Senseless
by CSIGurlie07
Summary: Adaptation is key to survival. But what happens when survival rests on one's senses, and suddenly one sense is ripped away?
1. Sound Pt1

A/N: This is something a little different than what I usually do. It was really more of an experiment. Here is how this fic is going to go down: In each chapter, Ziva is without one of her five senses: sight, hearing, taste, touch, and smell. Yes, I realize speech is technically not one of the five senses, but in my head, "hearing" is really more of a "sound" sense... which would include speech AND hearing. Don't worry, hearing will have its own chapter. Each chapter is unrelated to the other and can stand alone-- I am grouping them into one fic for artistic purposes.

So here is the first chapter "Sound, Pt 1". Beware, this is a very long chapter.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

* * *

Gibbs looked over at the desk next to him, and felt the familiar jolt of realizing it was still empty. It had been four months since the desk had last been used, but Gibbs still hadn't gotten used to the absence. Being at the Navy Yard almost let Gibbs forget what had happened, almost let him believe that nothing had changed. But at least once a day he looked over and remembered that she was no longer there. Her desk remained empty, and no one had suggested he fill it. Tony and McGee still felt the loss as well—every so often he would see one of them turn towards her desk, a question or joke on their lips, only to freeze before ducking their heads as they went back to work.

But today, it was not her absence that reminded them that things would never be the same. They had stumbled upon their current case early the day before, discovering a random print at the scene of petty officer's murder. It didn't make any sense, but the connection had been made, and they had called in the only person who could possibly shed some light on the matter.

The elevator dinged, and Gibbs heard an energetic Abby call out in excitement.

"ZIVA!"

Gibbs stood and turned towards the elevator to see the happy Goth engulfing the smaller woman in a crushing hug. After a long moment the scientist released her, giving Gibbs a chance to see his lover for the first time that day. After having pulled a seemingly endless all-nighter, the sight was a welcome one, and blue eyes took in her form as hands began to fly.

She was clad casually in a pair of dark jeans and a blue blouse that was insulated by a tailored brown leather coat that came down to her hips. Her hair fell in loose waves about her shoulders, framing cheeks that were rosy from the crisp autumn air. A scarf completed her ensemble, looped once around her neck. It obscured the garish scar that Gibbs knew was there, hiding the reason that Ziva's hands were currently moving rapidly as she exchanged pleasantries with Abby. Abby was responding in kind, her fingers moving slower than when she signed to Gibbs so that the Israeli could keep up.

"Ziver," Gibbs said, making his way over to the two women. Both looked up at his approach, an expectant smile on Ziva's face as she looked at him. He tenderly ran a hand down her arm. "How're you doing?"

She pursed her lips as she gave a slight roll of her eyes, her brow arching skeptically. She didn't need words to tell him to drop the pretense. He didn't call her in to ask about her health. He bit back a smirk as he crooked a finger at her, leading her back towards the squad room. She followed obediently, dropping her bag on her desk as she pulled off her coat to drape over her chair. She left her scarf in place, and gave a nod of greeting to McGee and Tony who welcomed her with excited tones and broad smiles. Gibbs quickly brought their attention back to the reason she was here.

"We were called out to a scene yesterday," he said. Ziva's gaze turned to focus on him. "We found a print that didn't belong. The scene was fresh; TOD twelve hours before we got to her." Ziva's hands moved in question. "Petty Officer Third Class Julianne Hughes. Stationed at Norfolk as a radar operator." He watched her hands move again, this time a little more hesitantly as they formed unfamiliar words. "Cause of death was exsanguination," he answered. He pressed the clicker once, sending a crime scene photo up onto the plasma, one that depicted a grisly corpse—whose throat had been slashed ear to ear.

He glanced at her to find her expression had hardened, her eyes darkened to the point they were almost black. He understood her reaction; he had felt the same way when he had first seen the butchered woman. Her eyes closed for a moment before she opened them once more, her anger shifting to annoyance. She motioned to him, conveying her thoughts in choppy movements. He shook his head.

"You're not here to give insight to the victim," he assured her, pressing the clicker once more, isolating and a enlarging a fingerprint. "This was found at the scene." He clicked again, displaying a ten-card with a name and current address. "Belongs to Andrew Jennings."

He watched Ziva freeze, her eyes glued to the plasma. She gripped the edge of her desk tightly, her knuckles white. She took a steadying breath, her eyes closing against the onslaught of memories he knew must be surging to the surface. He knew they were there—he had had his own to stamp down when he had first seen the monster up on Abby's screen. He also knew that while those harrowing 48 hours had been the worst experience of his life, he only knew half of the story:

"_Where the hell is David?" Gibbs barked, marching into the squad room, fresh cup of coffee in hand._

"_Dunno, boss," Tony replied. "She hasn't been in yet."_

"_Well, she's two hours late, Dinozzo. You think about calling her?"_

"_No answer boss," came the response. "I left probably ten messages." Gibbs' brow furrowed. She was never this late without checking in, and she had never violated rule number three before—it was unlike her to be unreachable. He quickly came to a decision._

"_McGee!"_

"_Yeah, boss," the young agent replied, looking up from his computer. _

"_Trace her cell, her car, anything to give us a location."_

"_On it."_

"_Dinozzo!" His senior field agent stood, ready for his instruction. "As soon as we get a twenty, you're with me."_

"_Boss, both her cell and her car are in the back lot of a coffee shop on E Street." Gibbs recognized the location—Ziva often got a tea there on her way to the Navy Yard. Still, it didn't sit right with him._

"_McGee, stay here. Keep the lines open, answer any and all of the desk phones. She calls, or she moves, you let us know." Gibbs tossed his coffee in the trash bin beside his desk before motioning for Tony to follow him to the elevator. _

_Ten minutes later Gibbs screeched to a halt in front of the coffee shop. Dinozzo followed him out of the car and around to the back lot. Guns drawn they approached Ziva's grey sedan cautiously, eyes scanning for anything out of place. It wasn't until they breached the far side of the vehicle that Gibbs' gut clenched in paralyzing fear._

_Lying on the gravel six feet from the car was Ziva's sidearm. He had quickly swept the area, and about ten feet in front of her sidearm was a knife, a set of keys, a cell phone, and a second gun—Ziva's backup. A little to the left Tony found her credentials, discarded haphazardly. At that point Gibbs' scout sniper training kicked in, and his keen eyes picked out the subtle indentations in the spread of gravel, tracing her footsteps, then a stranger's, terminating in the telltale tracks of another vehicle, now long gone. _

_Pulling out his own cell, Gibbs called McGee, telling him to look for any traffic cams that might have picked up images of a vehicle pulling out onto the street. There wasn't an exterior security camera for the back lot, so they had nothing on the make and model of the getaway car, or on how the perp had managed to snatch Ziva without spilling a drop of blood. _

_It would be another four days before he would find out that Ziva had been approached by the perp, asking for directions to the nearest subway terminal before revealing a dead man's switch clutched in his fist. He had claimed he had planted explosives in the coffee shop, and that should she resist in any way, he would blow the building. He had then instructed her to slowly place her NCIS-issue Beretta on the ground, keeping her hands visible at all times. She had done so, then followed his instructions to step forward six paces before relieving herself of her keys, knife, backup gun, and her credentials. Finally, she had been ordered to cuff her hands behind her back as she knelt, giving him free reign to quickly frisk her, finding her lock-pick gear, which he pocketed before pulling her to her feet and pulling her over to his own car. _

_He had then pushed her into the trunk and shut the lid before driving off. He had taken her to a warehouse, and then tossed a flash-bang into the sedan, which, even in the trunk, had been enough to disorient her so that the perp was able to pull her from the trunk bind her ankles with duct tape. After dragging her into a back room and pressing another piece of tape to her lips, he had proceeded to call Gibbs directly._

_Gibbs had been in the process of briefing Vance on the situation when his phone had begun to buzz on his hip. Flipping it open, he had abandoned the Director's office to return to the squad room._

"_Gibbs," he said shortly, his tone sharp._

"_I have something of yours," a deep garbled voice growled into his ear. _

"_Where is she?" Gibbs demanded, jogging down the stairs as he motioned for McGee to begin the trace on his phone. The voice chuckled in amusement._

"_Not yet, Agent Gibbs," it said. "You have to follow the clues, first. And you don't get your clues until you do something for me."_

"_I wanna talk to her," Gibbs demanded, taking in McGee's frustrated expression as he struggled to get location of the caller. _

"_I don't think so."_

"_I don't do a goddamn thing for you until I get proof of life." A long pause followed Gibbs' angry words, and for moment thought the man was going to hang up on him. Finally, the man spoke up again._

"_Well, why didn't you say so?"_

_Gibbs heard the sound of footsteps on concrete as the man moved. The phone rasped in Gibbs' ear as the other end of the line was switched to speaker and set on a hard surface. Gibbs' ears strained to hear any sound from Ziva, but instead heard the ominous sound of metal dragging against concrete. Then the sound of something being swung through the air traveled over the line before something solid connected with flesh. Gibbs had been in enough fights to recognize the muffled sound of a bone snapping under the heavy blow. The man swung a second and third time, and on the third blow, a muffled moan traveled across the line._

"_How's that for proof of life?" the man said, picking up the phone once more. Gibbs remained silent. "Now you get to do something for me. Reopen the case file of Corporal Bronson. They never caught the real killer three years ago, and rumor is you're the best in the business." The line fell quiet as Gibbs refused to either deny or reinforce the claim. "I will call again in six hours. If you have made progress in the case, I'll let you talk to her. If you haven't, well-- I will give you more 'proof of life'." _

_With that the line went dead. Gibbs looked up, only to see McGee shake his head in defeat: the trace had been fruitless. He shut his phone with a snap, taking a deep breath to steady himself. _

"_McGee, keep on the caller, see what you came find out from the number, and then go through traffic cam footage."_

"_What about us boss?"_

"_We get to open a closed case file."_

_They opened the file and quickly determined that Corporal Bronson had been little more than a convenient suspect. He hadn't had an alibi for the time of death of his coworker, and had been reported as having had a less than friendly relationship with the vic. Minimal evidence had been found, but it had been enough for the Corporal to be convicted. The investigation had been sloppy, and within moments of opening the file Gibbs knew they were going to have to start at the very beginning._

_The anonymous caller remained true to his word, calling every six hours to check on their progress. He was never satisfied enough with their work to allow Gibbs a chance to speak with Ziva, but had only been 'disappointed' twice. Gibbs made the mistake of protesting against the first of the resulting beatings, which had only spurred the man to give three extra swings of what Gibbs deduced to be a metal pipe. _

_Forty six hours after Ziva's disappearance, they finally stumbled upon a break in the case. The victim, a female Lance Corporal, had joined an online dating site using a false identity, and had arranged to meet another member of the site in person on the night of her murder. McGee was able to trace the account information to Andrew Jennings, a surgeon who had lost his medical license after multiple claims of malpractice. All trace of him had disappeared six months ago, except for an old warehouse he had inherited from an uncle that had not been sold off with the rest of his property when he had disappeared. _

_This time, the entire team went to chase the lead, following Gibbs' gut feeling that there was something more to Andrew Jennings than simply being a person of interest in a years-old murder case. The warehouse was in the middle of Northern Virginia, in an area that was industrial and saw little traffic. They called in the location to the local authorities on Gibbs' orders; he had a gut feeling that Ziva was here. If she was, the perp was too, and he wanted to be found. He wanted a confrontation, and Gibbs was not about to pull any punches. It was going to end with someone bleeding. And if he was wrong, then Ziva still needed medical attention, if the phone calls' "proof of life" sessions had been any indication. _

_They entered the warehouse warily, guns drawn. The place was empty, and Gibbs quickly spotted a corner that was hidden from view by what looked to be a protruding office. There was no evidence that Ziva had ever been there, let alone still in the building. A quick signal to the others sent the younger agents out in fan, sweeping slowly through the open space. Before they were able to get a glimpse of the hidden corner, the door to the office swung open. Three guns trained on the opening portal, freezing when the familiar form of Ziva emerged. Relief flooded Gibbs when she met his gaze, her eyes clear and alert. But then concern took over as he saw the swelling under her eye from a growing bruise, the tape over her lips, and the limp of her gait as she was pushed forward by a shadowy figure that held a knife to her throat while using her as a shield from both their eyes and their bullets._

"_Agent Gibbs," the figure said, the male voice much less impressive than the scrambled timbre Gibbs had communicated with over the phone. "Your reputation is well deserved. I thought it would take you at least a week to get this far. I intended to be gone by then. Would have left your agent here as a little present, for a job well done. But it wouldn't be the proof of life you had been hoping for." Gibbs could hear the smirk in the man's voice. "But the day is still young."_

"_You killed Lance Corporal Campos." The man merely chuckled. "Why the sudden need to get credit? Why this way? Why not just go to the press?" Gibbs fired questions at him, keeping the man's attention on him as Tony inched slowly around the side, trying to get an angle on the perp. However, Jennings was planted firmly in the doorway—until he moved, any shot they attempted would have to go through Ziva first. _

"_If I went to the press I'd be nothing more than an amateur attempting to ride the coattails of Corporal Bronson. But if you figured it out on your own, you would know the truth, and Bronson would have been freed. __Then__ the press would have gotten wind of it—NCIS would have been humiliated, and I will be plastered on every television screen in America." _

_Gibbs tuned Jennings out, instead focusing on Ziva. She met his gaze again, and when he arched a silent brow at her in question, her eyes narrowed. Her eyes flicked away, and Gibbs knew she was running through her options. She knew she had to get out of Jennings' grasp before the team could do anything. A moment later she looked at him once more, and then, gave the smallest of nods, so small that Jennings didn't notice the motion. Gibbs nodded in acknowledgment, sending a quick look to McGee and Tony, both of whom gave him glances of understanding as they kept an eye on Jennings. _

"_And you, Agent Gibbs, you would be heartbroken upon discovering Agent David's broken body—" Jennings didn't have a chance to finish before Ziva sprang into action._

_Her head snapped back to collide with Jennings' nose while her foot slammed down on his instep. The shock and pain was enough for Jennings' grip on her cuffed wrists to slacken and the blade at her throat to fall away for Ziva to move away. But Jennings recovered too quickly, and he had snatched her back before she managed to go more than two steps. Gibbs did not have a chance to fire before Ziva was back in his line of sight, and he could do nothing more than watch as the knife came back up, but this time did not stop as soon as Ziva was immobilized. _

_Rage burned in Jennings' eyes as he slashed the knife viciously across Ziva's throat. Red clouded Gibbs' vision when he saw Ziva fall, shoved away in disgust as Jennings realized his human shield was no longer a bargaining chip. The man tossed away the knife, staring with a growing grin as blood pooled on the pavement._

"_No!" Gibbs' vision tunneled as he sprinted to where Ziva lay motionless in a growing pool of blood. He didn't see Tony and McGee swoop in to force Jennings to the ground, shouting at him to not move, daring him to look at them wrong, pressing their weapons to his skull. He didn't hear Jennings' maniacal laughter echo throughout the warehouse as he realized that his plan had worked out better than he thought it would. _

_He fell to his knees beside her, rolling her from where she had fallen on her side so that she was laying face up. It meant she was laying on her cuffed wrists, but that was the least of his worries as he saw the jagged slash that tore her throat open from ear to ear. Gibbs fought to breathe, time slowing down as he saw blood fly from her wound as she struggled to breathe. Then his mind went into overdrive, and he pulled the tape from her lips, allowing her to suck in a ragged, soundless breath. But then she choked, blood flying from her lips as blood flooded her mouth. _

"_Oh God, Ziva." Gibbs' voice was little more than a whisper as he yanked off his jacket and polo before pressing the shirt to her wound, draping his jacket over her in the same movement. "Stay with me." Her eyes opened, and fearful brown eyes met his. Her lips moved silently as they shaped an all too familiar name._

_**Jethro**__._

"_I'm here, Ziver." In the distance, Gibbs could hear the growing wail of sirens speeding towards them. "The ambulance is coming, you just gotta hang on for just a little bit." By this time, McGee had approached, and gentle hands reached under her slim frame to unlock the cuffs binding her hands. Within moments her arms were free, and Tim's soft touch moved them out from under her. One of Gibbs' hands was pressing the bloody polo to her throat, but his free hand immediately sought hers, clutching it as much for his own comfort as it was to reassure her. _

_Her grip was weak from her arms being immobile for the past 48 hours, but Gibbs barely noticed, his own grip tight enough for both of them. He heard her breathing becoming even more labored as blood from her wound trickled its way down her throat and into her lungs. By now his shirt was soaked, but he did not have a chance to have to think of something to replace it with before the ambulance pulled up and McGee called for the paramedics to come quickly._

_Before he fully registered what was happening, Gibbs was shoved aside as the paramedics took over, transferring Ziva onto a gurney and quickly moving her into the ambulance. They had rolled away, sirens blaring, before Gibbs found the strength to tear his gaze from the pool of blood that was working its way into the fabric of his pants as he continued to kneel on the cement floor._

It had been for months since that day. Four months since he had managed to pick himself off the warehouse floor to follow the ambulance in his own car. Four months since he spent six more hours waiting for news of Ziva's condition. Four months since the doctor had come out to tell him that Ziva was going to make it.

Four months since he was told that she would never speak again.

Ziva had reacted typically for someone who had lost their primary mode of communication. She had been shocked at first, then had alternated between bouts of anger and depression. But when she reached some semblance of accepting her plight, she had focused on working around it. She quickly became frustrated by the slow pace of having to write out what she needed to say on a pad of paper, and within two weeks of learning she would be without her voice for the rest of her life, she had wrangled Abby into teaching her sign language. Gibbs had also helped her learn, spending long hours going over the signs again and again until she memorized them.

Ziva had thrown herself into learning the new language, preferring to focus on the symbols than on what she had lost. But she still had yet to fully accept the loss of her voice, frustration overcoming her on many occasions when she found she could not properly express herself. She'd had to take to keeping a pen and paper on her at all times in case of emergency, and she resented having to rely on such primitive means of communication. She smiled easier nowadays, but her mood could turn equally dark at a moment's notice, as evidenced by the stormy gaze she turned on him once she looked away from the familiar picture on the plasma.

Her fingers flew in jerking motions, her anger and fear evident.

"He's still in jail, Ziva. We called and confirmed with the warden this morning." Fingers flew. "No, I don't know how his print got into the middle of my crime scene. That's what I was hoping you'd be able to help us out with."

She pushed away from her desk, crossing the squad bay aggressively. She shook her head, her lips mouthing the words her hands formed. Blue eyes tracked their movement, working to piece together her increasingly disjointed motions.

"I know you didn't work that case," he said, his voice growing frustrated. "If we had found anything in our investigation as to why someone would plant Jennings' prints, we wouldn't need you here right now. But the only piece of evidence we have is this goddamn print and we need to know if there was anything you heard during those two days that could indicate he was working with a partner."

She met his gaze, her lips parted slightly, as if ready to say something more. But she thought better of it, her mouth closing into a thin line as she pulled back slightly. The confrontation had left her posture, and she seemed to settle back on her heels, her gaze lowering as she gently shook her head. Her fingers flickered softly, brushing across her cheek to indicate one of the multiple injuries she had sustained at the business end of the heavy metal pipe they had found.

"There has to be _something_ you remember," Gibbs replied. He believed what he said—he had witnessed the nightmares she had about those missing 48 hours, which told him that the memories were there; she just didn't have a good enough reason to dig them up from her subconscious. "A name, something he said. Did he receive or make any phone calls while you were with him?" At this she cocked her head with a slight roll of her eye, her brow arched in an expression that clearly said "dumbass". Gibbs gave his own eye roll as he realized his mistake. "Besides the ones he made to me, Ziver. Did he tell you where you where he was going after he left the final clue?"

Instead of immediately responding, Ziva closed her eyes. Gibbs watched her take a breath, and let her have a moment to think back to four months ago and search for anything that could help them. Her eyes flew open a moment later, and she formed a single word.

"River?" Gibbs clarified. His brow furrowed—it didn't make any sense.

"Boss, the nearest river to the warehouse was the Potomac," McGee offered. "It flows to the Chesapeake, which in theory could have given him access to the Atlantic, but as an escape route it's unfeasible. He'd have to go through Great Falls before he hit the bay."

"Or maybe he had one of those river house boats," Tony spoke up. "You know, hide out there, then pick up anchor and move whenever someone got too close."

"The Potomac is mostly too shallow for something like that, Tony," McGee contradicted. Gibbs' eyes were pulled away from the arguing agents by the sight of Ziva pulling out her pad of paper. She scribbled something on the blank paper before she displayed it to Gibbs.

"Not river," Gibbs said. "Rio." McGee and Dinozzo looked at him. "He was going to Rio." Ziva nodded, a triumphant smirk on her lips, which disappeared a moment later. She scratched something else onto the paper.

_Doesn't help,_ Gibbs read. He looked at her expression once more, finding her features apologetic.

"Do you remember anything else, Ziva?" She looked away, her eyes unfocusing once more as she delved into her memories. She began to shake her head in a negative, but then froze, her eyes wide. Her pen flew for a split second before the pad was presented to Gibbs once more.

_He said his "boy" was going to meet him there._

"Uh, Jennings didn't exactly sound like the type of guy who had homeboys, boss," Dinozzo said as he saw the hastily written words.

"And none of his records showed that he was in regular contact with anyone."

Ziva shook her head.

_Not "homeboy"… son?_

Gibbs' eyes flashed to his other agents, who after a moment of hesitation scrambled to find the information.

"No record of a kid, Boss," Tony said.

"I've got a list of prior acquaintances from his jacket, boss," McGee said. "We only tracked down about a third of them before we found the warehouse. I'm running them all through the database now." He tapped briskly against the keyboard for a few moments before his computer beeped. "Thirteen names boss," he said. "Eight are female, Jennings' former girlfriends. Five have kids, but three of them have other men listed as the fathers… That leaves two: Catherine Bates and Vivian Hunt. Neither have a father listed on the kids' birth certificates. Bates has a three year old girl… And Hunt has a 19 year old son named Andrew. Still lives at home in Bethesda."

"You two go and bring both Hunts in for questioning," Gibbs ordered, triumph seeping into his tone. Both agents were already reaching for their go-bags, and within moments were abandoning their desks. McGee was the first to hesitate before doubling back to wrap Ziva in a hug.

"Great job Ziva," he said. Tony was there as soon as the younger agent released her, and pressed a chaste kiss to her temple.

"Good to see you back, Zee-vah," the senior field agent said tenderly. Ziva smiled in return before playfully rolling her eyes and pushing both men away. She waved them towards the elevator in silent command, and they obeyed with matching grins.

As the elevator closed with a ding, Ziva turned once more to Gibbs. With a smile on his lips he stepped closer to her and gave her a reassuring hug of his own.

"You're amazing," he said softly. He felt her sigh against him. When she pulled away a moment later, he couldn't help but notice she looked drained. "Why don't you go down and visit Ducky?" he suggested.

Gibbs knew that Ziva's patience for ducky's notorious ramblings had begun to wax and wane since her injury, as she had become somewhat of a captive audience. She no longer had a voice to interrupt the medical examiner with, and Ducky was often too engrossed in his tales to notice her disinterest. But today, Ducky's ramblings may prove to be a welcome distraction from the case.

Ziva seemed to agree, as she nodded and began to make her way towards the elevator that would take her down to autopsy.

"I'll go with you!" Abby exclaimed excitedly. The Goth had been quiet since her initial outburst at Ziva's arrival, watching the agents work towards a lead. Now she linked her arm through Ziva's who gave a tight lipped smile in return. Together they turned to leave.

"Ziva," Gibbs called after them, causing them to turn back to look at him. "Proud of you," he said simply, capturing her gaze with his. She regarded for a moment, then gave a single nod, the corner of her mouth curling up in appreciation, though her eyes still remained guarded.

Then they were on their way, Abby chattering as they walked. Gibbs watched them go, only turning back to his desk once they were out of sight. This case was going to be closed, he declared silently to himself, and soon. The last thing he had wanted was to pull Ziva into an investigation, especially one like this. The desire to kill Andrew Jennings flared within, after months of focusing on Ziva's recovery than on thoughts of vengeance. He only hoped, for Jennings' sake, that they closed the case before they were forced to question Jennings himself. Incarcerated or not, Gibbs wouldn't be able to guarantee the bastard would survive the visit.

******

The ride down to autopsy was filled with idle chatter from Abby. Ziva listened, not bothering to watch the Goth's hands as they formed the words. She knew that Abby signed to help her become familiar with ASL, but her mind was elsewhere, lost in thought until the doors slid open.

Ziva stepped out of the elevator, Abby clomping along beside her as they passed through the pneumatic doors that allowed them access to the morgue.

"Ducky!" Abby called, pulling the Scotsman's attention from the corpse he was in middle of stitching up. The elder man quickly passed the needle and thread off to Palmer as soon as he caught sight of the two women.

"Abigail! Ziva!" Ducky exclaimed. "Delightful to see you my dear." He pulled off his soiled gloves and scrubs before moving to wash his hands. "To what do I owe this pleasant surprise visit?"

"Ziva's here to help with a case," Abby answered for the Israeli. Ducky had experienced difficulty learning to read sign language, a fact he jokingly attributed to his growing age but ultimately acted as barrier in the instances Ziva was without pen and paper. "She helped them find a lead within like, fifteen minutes of getting here, after the rest of the team had been working for seven hours and coming up with zilch. It was awesome."

"It seems you have not lost your touch," Ducky remarked to Ziva, drying his hands with a paper towel. He waved both women towards his desk, where he pulled out a portable tea kettle and moved to fill it with water.

"IT'S GOOD TO SEE YOU BACK, AGENT DAVID!" Palmer shouted from his position next to the body. "THINGS HAVEN'T BEEN THE SAME SINCE YOU'VE BEEN GONE!" His voice echoed loudly throughout the morgue. Ziva's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes hardening in annoyance. Palmer failed to notice. "I MEAN, AGENT Gibbs HAS ALWAYS BEEN… BRUSQUE, BUT LATELY HE'S BEEN EVEN MORE CURT THAN USUAL!" He paused, but didn't look up from his task of stitching the body closed. "NOT THAT IT'S A BAD THING, NECESSARILY—" The young assistant tried to backtrack, but failing as he looked up to find three pairs of eyes staring at him, nonplussed. "WHAT?" he shouted.

Ziva's hands moved quickly, punctuated by forceful, deliberate motions, clearly agitated. Abby snickered as she read the silent words, but did not translate. Palmer's gaze remained clueless as he failed to understand the signs.

"WHAT?" he asked again, his overly loud tone still clueless.

"Stop shouting, Mr. Palmer," Ducky said, his voice sharp. "Agent David is mute, not deaf." A moment's pause of incomprehension passed before the doctor continued. "There is nothing wrong with her hearing—there is no need to shout." Palmer's eyes immediately widened.

"Oh, I didn't mean to… I mean… I'm so sorr—" Palmer's blundering died off as he realized he was dangerous close to digging himself an even deeper hole. Ziva's expression softened, her eyes crinkling in amusement at Palmer's characteristic reaction.

"Are you quite finished, Mr. Palmer?" Ducky's tone was still laden with disapproval. Palmer froze, and barely managed to stutter a few vowels before the older gentleman lost patience. "With the _body_, Mr. Palmer!"

"Oh! Yes, doctor, all finished."

"Go take your break, Mr. Palmer," Doctor Mallard ordered. "In fact, take an extra hour."

"Yes, doctor," Palmer replied. Within moments he was discarding his gloves and smock as he hurriedly left the room. As soon as the pneumatic doors whooshed closed behind him, Ducky returned to his task of putting water on to boil.

"Oh, Jimmy," Abby remarked thoughtfully. "He's lucky he's so adorable when does that." She glanced at Ziva. "Still, I'm glad he's not _my_ assistant." Ziva grinned broadly in response. "Well, I have to get back to my babies," Abby said. "Come see me before you leave, okay?" Ziva nodded in acquiescence, and was consequently pulled into yet another hug. "It's so good to see you," the Goth whispered. Then Ziva was released and the scientist was prancing from the room. "See you later, Ducky!" she threw over her shoulder, the doors closing behind her before the doctor could respond.

"Sometimes I wonder where that girl gets her energy," Ducky remarked bemusedly. "And then I see her with a Caf-Pow and I cringe at the thought of such a volatile combination of sugar and caffeine." He offered Ziva his spare desk chair. "And I apologize for Mr. Palmer's insensitivity."

Ziva waved the apology away. She was too familiar with Palmer's awkward social interaction to be offended. Ducky took a moment to observe the young woman sitting across from him. He took in her scarf, knowing the hidden scar was well healed. She had lost a bit of weight, but not enough to be worrisome. Her skin was a healthy pallor, but the doctor could not ignore the fatigue in her posture, the reserved nature of her gaze.

"You appear troubled, my dear," Ducky said. Ziva met his gaze for a moment, attesting to the truth of his observation. "Anything you would perhaps like to share?" A moment of hesitation passed, and then her brow arched expectantly, a mischievous glint in her eye as she looked at him. Ducky was all too familiar with this particular expression.

"Ah," he commented knowingly, "a test of my skills." Since Ziva had lost her voice, Ducky had been forced to use his powers of observation and deduction to gain insight into her state of mind, as her ability to communicate had been severely stunted. It had become something of a game now; if Ziva felt comfortable sharing with the older man, he would do his best to deduce the source of her troubles, and exercise his ability to read body language to sense if he was warm or cold.

"A recent development," he inferred, "as you were unafflicted when I paid you a visit last week." He looked at his subject, and saw no indication that he was wrong. "Perhaps the reason of your visit this afternoon." Ziva's gaze flicked away briefly. Ducky regarded her. He was close, but not quite on the money. "Or the visit is the source of your troubles." Ziva nodded once, her lips pressed together tightly. Ducky thought back to what Abby had said, and then pieced together the facts.

"Ah," he said in realization. "The case that Jethro picked up yesterday—the murdered petty officer." Another nod. "I have not yet had a chance to autopsy the poor woman, but if I recall correctly, my preliminary observation…" His voice trailed off as he recalled the image of the bloody corpse that had been left behind—complete with mangled throat. "Oh, my dear," he said, unable to keep the pity from his voice. "No wonder you're troubled. I don't doubt seeing the victim awakened some unpleasant memories for you." Ziva's brow arched, accompanied by a noncommittal shrug.

"But," Ducky continued, "it is unlike Jethro to brief you on the case simply because of the similar traumas… In fact, I believe he would try to isolate you from the case for that very reason." Ziva lifted her hand, waggling her fingers at the elder man. After a moment, comprehension dawned. "He found fingerprints," he stated, earning a nod of confirmation. He paused, his brow furrowing in concern. "Not yours…"

Ziva shook her head emphatically, her brow furrowed to reinforce the negative.

"Well, then," Ducky continued, "whose prints were found that would have caused Jethro to need your insight?" He watched Ziva carefully, noticing the slight hesitation as she debated revealing any more. But then she took a steadying breath, her expression relaxing somewhat as she lowered her inhibitions.

Her left hand came up and moved in a smooth slashing motion across her throat. She met his gaze, as if to prove to him that she was no longer self-conscious of her injury. Surprised confusion hit the doctor with a jolt as he realized the implications behind her simple motion.

"Andrew Jennings?" Ziva nodded. "But, he's still in prison!" Ducky exclaimed. Ziva's brow rose, her jaw set as she brought up her hands in a motion the doctor read as 'don't ask me'. Clearly, she was just as confused as anyone else, and despite her calm demeanor, perhaps the slightest bit afraid.

"Do not worry, my dear," Ducky said. She looked at him with a muted, guarded gaze. The disguised vulnerability of her posture gave rise to an intense desire to reassure her, an instinct Ducky was glad to oblige. "Nothing will happen to you," he said, reaching out to cover her hand with his. "Even if you did not have a whole team to protect you, Jethro will not allow harm to befall you."

Ziva's gaze shifted, her head falling slightly to the side as a mirthless smirk curled at her lips. It was then that Ducky realized the naïveté of his words; it had been because of the team's, Jethro's, inability to keep her safe that had resulted in the loss of her voice in the first place. Not that she had ever suggested that it had been the team's fault she had lost her voice. But Ducky knew that each member of the MCRT had felt guilt for being unable to find her sooner, or to keep the knife from stealing her voice. Finally, Ducky felt the need to shift the conversation.

"You know, my dear," he said softly, "you needn't feel obligated to wear that here." He motioned towards the scarf that was still wrapped around her neck. "You will not find any judgment when you are with me, nor will you have to suffer any curious stares."

She regarded him for a moment, before giving a half-nod, as if recognizing some veiled challenge. She removed the garment in question and draped it over the back of her chair, revealing the still-pink scar that tore across her throat. He knew from seeing her chart while she was in the hospital that had the gash been situated a millimeter to the left or to the right, one or both of her jugular arteries would have been nicked. But she had been lucky, as the knife had only sliced through her larynx, severing both laryngeal nerves and cutting through the small artery that supplied blood to the voice box and the surrounding muscle.

The blood loss from that single artery would have killed her, had Gibbs not reacted as soon as he did or the doctors not been as skilled as they were. But for all their skill, they had been unable to resuscitate the drained muscles of the voice box, nor had they been able to repair the larynx itself. And so she had been forced to accept her new handicap, and would forever bear the scar as a memory of what she had lost.

Ziva settled back in her chair, crossing her arms as her gaze dared Ducky to make a sideways comment, or let his gaze linger too long. When he remained silent, and his eyes never left hers, she smiled. Any tension that had built between them melted away, and Ducky took in the mirthful twinkle in her eye as he poured her a cup of tea—jasmine, her favorite.

"Actually, the color of your scarf reminds me of when I spent a summer in Spain before my first year at Edinburgh. Oh it must have been some thirty years ago now, but there is one instance I recall quite vividly…"

*****

Gibbs was reviewing the crime scene photos, looking for anything they might have missed the first go-around, when his phone buzzed on his hip.

"Talk to me," he barked into the phone, not bothering to check the caller ID.

"We made it to Vivian Hunt's place, Boss," Tony's voice said over the line. "She hasn't seen Andy Jr for four days. And has no idea where he is."

"Well, bring her in anyway, Dinozzo."

"We were going to, but we wanted to get a look at the kid's room before we left… Boss, this isn't good."

"What did you find?"

"A scene from _Memento_, boss, except this guy has his obsession all over his walls, not his skin. The crazy's all here, though." Tony paused, but continued before Gibbs lost his patience. "Boss, this guy has newspaper clippings from four months ago. Ziva's name is underlined, circled… We've got dozens of recent photos, here, all from a telephoto lens. This guy has been watching her, boss, as early as two months ago." Another pause. "It's not pretty, boss. This guy obviously blames Ziva for his Dad being in jail… he's out for blood. Her blood."

"Dammit!" Gibbs muttered, closing his eyes against an impending migraine. "Take photos, bag anything that could tell us where he went. Then get your asses back here with the mother." With that he snapped the phone shut and tossed it back onto his desk. He ran a calloused hand over his face, his mind racing through his options.

He was going to keep her safe, that much was certain. He had several ways to ensure that would happen, but none of them would make Ziva herself happy. She was going to fight him at every step, and he knew her already shot nerves would be unable to remain patient for long. And since her attack four months ago, her temper had only become more volatile. Gibbs also knew that she would not appreciate being kept out of the loop.

He picked up his desk phone and dialed Ducky's extension. A brief conversation had the medical examiner promising to escort Ziva up to the squad room, collecting Abby on the way. Minutes later, all three of them entered the squad room. Ziva's eyes flicked quickly to the plasma as her hands formed a brief question.

"Dinozzo and McGee are on their way back with Vivian Hunt," he replied to her query, "but Andrew Hunt has been in the wind for the past four days."

"So Andrew Hunt is really Jennings' son?" Abby asked. Gibbs nodded.

"Dinozzo found evidence at the house that confirms it until DNA proves otherwise. But I'd put money on it telling us what we already know."

"What did they find that makes you so certain?" Ducky inquired. Gibbs looked at him, then to Ziva as he hesitated, reluctant to share the news. After a long moment, he finally bit the bullet. He clicked once, pulling up the crime scene photos once more.

"This was not a crime of passion," he said, turning away from his audience slightly to focus on the pictures. "It was a message." He glanced at them and saw shocked horror creeping onto Ducky's and Abby's faces. Ziva remained stoic, though his keen eyes saw her jaw clench tightly.

"For us?" Abby whispered. Gibbs couldn't answer that—it could be for them, or it could be meant for Ziva herself, warning her of what was to come.

"Andrew Hunt is going to finish what Jennings started," he said, evading the question. He caught Ziva's gaze. "He's been watching you, Ziver." Her expression didn't change, and he quickly realized it was not a surprise to her. "Did you know?"

She bit her lip as her hands moved slowly, tentative. She felt as if someone had been watching her from time to time, but she had never been able to spot anything out of place.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Gibbs couldn't keep the accusation from his voice, and Ziva bristled in response. Her next signs were sharp, defensive.

"Don't spout the shrink's lectures at me," he said. "I don't care if paranoia is 'normal' after traumatic experiences; you should have told me anyway. At least then—" he cut himself off abruptly. She regarded him coolly, and then her expression shifted from stony resolution to warm understanding. Stepping closer, she touched his arm softly before signing again. He shook his head, brushing away the reassurances. "_I_ should've noticed something, Ziva. I should've seen this guy following you around. If he was following you, he was following _us_." He met her gaze once more, seeing the concern in furrowed brow as she regarded him silently, hesitant to respond.

It was then the elevator doors opened, and Tony disembarked, escorting Vivian Hunt as McGee followed, carrying a box full of bagged and tagged evidence. With a jerk of his head, Gibbs motioned for Tony to take Mz. Hunt to the conference room. The senior field agent obeyed, guiding the woman through the squad room. As they passed Ziva and Gibbs, the Israeli tilted her chin up to glance up at the team leader, exposing the angry scar she had forgotten to re-cover with her scarf.

The woman's green eyes caught sight of the disfigurement, causing her freeze as her eyes widened. Ziva noticed the reaction and regarded the woman with a frosty gaze.

"Are you Ziva David?" Vivian Hunt asked, her tone tremulous. After a long moment, Ziva responded with a nod, her face remaining expressionless as her eyes remained glued to the woman. "I remember reading about you, in the newspaper. The articles said you were injured, but I didn't realize it was so…" Her voice trailed off, and Ziva arched an unimpressed eyebrow at her. "The newspaper said Andrew Jennings…" Again, her voice trailed off. Impatient, Ziva elbowed Gibbs lightly and jerked her chin at the woman, prompting him to ask the question they needed an answer to.

"Mz. Hunt, is Andrew Jennings the father of your son?" After a moment's hesitation, Vivian nodded.

"Yes. We had broken up before I realized I was pregnant. I didn't list him on the birth certificate because I didn't want him to have any obligation to stay in our lives." She paused. "I never told Andy who his father was, but I think he found out on his own. When he was nineteen I found him looking through an yearbook in the attic… Andrew had written a note in the cover, and I think Andy tracked him from there." She wrapped her arms around herself. "When Andy saw the article about Agent David and how Andrew had been arrested, he was so upset. He didn't eat or sleep for days… He started to change after that." Her eyes drifted back to Ziva's scar as her fingers came up to brush against her own throat. "I… I am so sorry…"

"Mz. Hunt," Tony interrupted, sensing the dangerous path the woman had wandered onto, "why don't you follow me to the conference room. We just have a few questions for you about your son's whereabouts." Gently but firmly, he took the woman by the arm and guided her out of the squad room. As soon as the woman was out of sight, McGee set the box of evidence on his desk. Abby was immediately on him, pawing through the bags as she quickly scanned their contents. A moment later Ziva was next to her, taking a handful of photographs to peruse. Her gaze was impartial and analytical, the mask of a competent investigator, as if the subject of the pictures were a stranger, and not herself.

Gibbs strode over and plucked the photos from her grasp, tossing them back into the bin before taking the whole thing and shoving it into Abby's arms.

"You're not investigating, Ziva. You're too close."

Her irritation returned, and she signed rapidly in choppy strokes. Gibbs saw the validity of her claim, but he brushed it aside in favor of protocol and her own protection.

"I asked for your help before I knew it was warning for you to watch your back, Ziver," he argued, his voice unyielding. "This guy is gunning for you, and the more you know, the more danger you're in." Ziva rolled her eyes. "Mossad or not," he continued, responding to her silent retort, "I am not risking your life by getting you overly involved. I'll keep you in the loop, but you're not on the case."

Fire flashed in Ziva's eyes at his declaration, but before she had a chance to respond, another angry voice thundered through the squad room.

"Agent Gibbs!"

All eyes traveled upwards to find Director Vance glaring down at the team, his teeth grinding on a toothpick.

"My office, now!" Gibbs took in an annoyed breath, but swallowed his insubordination as he obliged after the slightest of hesitation. As he climbed the stairs, Vance glanced at the rest of the team. "All of you," he added gruffly. The team shared a nervous glance before obeying.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Vance tore into Gibbs.

"You wanna tell me why I had to find out from my secretary that Ms. David is being targeted by a perp, Gibbs?" he demanded, eyes flashing. Gibbs arched an eyebrow, but remained calm.

"I only found out myself a half hour ago, Leon," he replied coolly. "You were my next stop." He eyed the Director. "Might wanna think about giving your secretary a raise though."

"I'll take it into consideration." The director's tone softened slightly. "This is a highly volatile situation, Gibbs."

"I realize that—"

"No you don't," Vance interrupted. "Agent David has sensitive information that is important to many powerful countries." Gibbs blinked.

"This isn't about international intrigue, Leon," he said. "We know who the threat is, and we know the motive. Andy Hunt wants revenge, not secrets."

"You don't know for sure," Vance contradicted. "What's your plan of action?"

Gibbs hesitated for a moment, debating which route to go. In his silence, Tony spoke up.

"What about round-the-clock shadow surveillance, boss?"

"Lockdown is safer," McGee offered. "Less time in transit means less of a threat. There's existing surveillance and 24 hour guard presence. Plus, it's familiar territory."

Gibbs shook his head. He was about to respond when he noticed Ziva waving to get his attention. As soon as she had it, her fingers flew in a flurry of motion, her brow furrowed in anger. Her displeasure at the situation was tangible, but Gibbs found himself unreceptive to her request.

"Ziva, I'm not going to risk this guy getting his hand on you just because you're too damn stubborn. You're getting protection," he stated. Normally he would have tried to honor her requests, but the memories of the events from four months ago overshadowed his better judgment. Ignoring the burning anger he saw flare up within her, he turned back to McGee.

"This guy managed to tail her for months without her spotting him," he continued. "He's good. He knows where she works and where she lives. I wouldn't be surprised if he were able to infiltrate the building—mail clerk, delivery boy, intern…" He looked at Vance. "Safehouse. In-house protection maintaining visual contact at all times."

"I'll do you one better," Vance responded. "Witness Protection. I can have a Marshall down here within the hour." Gibbs shook his head.

"No-go. She stays in the city, and we'll have to be able to have contact with her as the case progresses."

"Her safety is more important than the case, Gibbs—"

"I'll keep her safe," Gibbs replied. "In the safehouse. We'll use one we haven't used for the past six months, in case Hunt surveilled her before Jennings."

"Ummm… Gibbs?" Abby's voice went largely unnoticed by the two arguing men.

"Minimal contact. She doesn't leave the house, for anything," Vance demanded.

"A given."

"Not good enough," Vance decided. "In house protection, with additional protection on loan from the FBI."

"Umm… Gibbs?"

"Not now, Abs." Gibbs turned back to Vance. "It's not an FBI case."

"Jennings took David over state lines into Virginia. That gets their foot in the door. NCIS takes the lead, FBI helps with protection and legwork." Gibbs hesitated.

"Protection detail gets approved by Fornell."

"Done."

"Which safehouse—"

"Gibbs!"

"WHAT, ABBY?!" The Marine's bellow thundered in the crowded office, shocking the rest into silence. Abby looked at him in surprise for a moment, her eyes wide, before she answered.

"Where's Ziva?" she asked, her voice small.

The question hit him with a jolt, and his eyes scanned the room for the Israeli. His rapid search yielded no sign of her, and he cursed silently under his breath as he rushed from the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of her from the mezzanine… but she was gone. He pulled out his phone and speed-dialed her cell attempting to hear it ringing somewhere in the squad room, but it went straight to voicemail.

"I guess the protective detail only works if you can keep track of her," Abby said as she approached, accompanied by Tony and McGee. Gibbs ignored the comment, instead firing off orders.

"McGee, track her phone and her car. Dinozzo, get on the mother, she has to know something about where the kid is. Abby, start going through the evidence; look for anything that might tell you where he'd take her if he got hold of her."

The team scrambled into action. Within moments McGee had a fix on both Ziva's cell and sedan; neither had the building. Gibbs felt a wave of relief before he marched swiftly out of the squad room, leaving the others to complete their assigned tasks.

He sprinted towards the car park, aiming to intercept her before she had a chance to drive off. But she he reached her car minutes later, there was no indication she had been there since she had first arrived that afternoon. On his way back up to the squad room, he checked both autopsy and Abby's lab, with the same results. It wasn't until he was just about to reach the squad room when he recalled the courtyard: it was enclosed on three sides by Navy buildings, including NCIS on the west side, and at the heart of the base, meaning everyone who had access first had to get past security at the front gate, as well as a second checkpoint some 300 meters from the NCIS building.

Turning on his heel, Gibbs quickly made his way to the ground level, bypassing the elevator in favor of the stairs. He took them two at a time, and didn't slow down until he made it to the courtyard. He was immediately rewarded by the sight of Ziva sitting on an iron bench beneath a bare-branched dogwood. Her forearms were resting on her knees, her hands clasped together. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, hiding her face from his view, but her posture was relaxed—waiting.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked gruffly as soon as he was in earshot. Her head lifted at his approach, her expression stony. She did nothing in response, except scooting to one end of the bench: a silent invitation for him to join her. He obliged, sitting next to her on the cold metal. He forced himself to take a calming breath before speaking again. "I'm trying to keep you safe, Ziver," he said. "Running off makes that a little hard to do."

She signed briefly, her expression unchanging.

"You're getting it, Ziva, whether or not you think you need it." His tone left no room for debate, but when Ziva's eyes narrowed dangerously, Gibbs thought of another tactic. "Do it for me. I need to know you're safe so I can focus on finding the Petty Officer's killer." He looked her in the eye. "Will you do that for me?"

She regarded him carefully for a moment. For a moment, he thought she was going to flat out refuse, but then something in her eyes shifted. Her fingers slowly moved, her signing carefully thoughtful as she compromised. Gibbs grinned in acceptance as he went through the motions of negotiating.

"No. You stay at NCIS but you don't work the case." She leaned back in response, her arms crossing over her chest in defiance. He sighed. "Fine. But you only help Abby. No questioning witnesses. But she gives me updates on the hour and if she thinks you're having difficulty handling it, you're up in the squad room making copies." He was rewarded with a triumphant smile. He returned it until he saw her add another requirement, and he frowned in concern.

"You trying to tell me the deal is only good for twenty four hours?" She nodded. "No dice," he said firmly. "You're staying in the building until Hunt is apprehended." Ziva shook her head adamantly. "That's the deal, Ziver: take it or leave it."

She eyed him for a long moment before her fingers formed signs he didn't immediately recognize. His brow furrowed in confusion.

"Another inspection?" he clarified. She shook her head no, then repeated the symbol. When he still could not comprehend it, she added a few more. His eyes widened. "You mean _re-evaluation_?" He made the correct sign with his own hands. Ziva nodded, her expression creasing once more into a smile. "You want to re-evaluate in twenty four hours and then decide if the protection is still necessary?" Another nod.

Gibbs knew that they probably have to have the same conversation again if he agreed to the arrangement, but at the same time, he knew that it was the only way he would get her to go along with the protection detail at all. At least this way he would be able to keep an eye on her himself. After moment more of consideration, Gibbs finally came to a decision.

"Deal," he said, extending his hand to her for a shake.

She took the offered hand in a firm grip, their joined hands moving up and down in a congenial manner before she leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then she stood and made to leave the courtyard, making no move to wait for him to act as her escort. He stood smoothly and snaked out an arm, catching her by the waist as he pulled her back to her.

"And where do you think you're going?" he asked, their noses almost touching. "We had a deal." He watched her smile as she pushed away playfully. She quickly signed that her go-bag was in her car; she wanted to get it now so that she could change her outfit later. He nodded. "I'm going with you." She rolled her eyes at him, her fingers flashing. "I don't care if the parking garage _right_ next door to the building. It's too dangerous."

Ziva's jaw tightened slightly in annoyance as she rapidly signed for him to stop over-reacting. She then instructed him to meet her in the squad room, as she would be stopping by before heading to Abby's lab for the remainder of the day.

Knowing he risked having her bolt for real, Gibbs decided to let it go and let her have her last few minutes of freedom. He nodded in acceptance, bestowing a brief kiss to her forehead before pushing her towards the garage in question, with the declaration that she had ten minutes before he came after her.

She smiled in return, and he then turned to head back into NCIS to wait for her. He waited for the elevator for several moments before he decided to beat the crowd and made his way to the stairs. He was almost to the third floor when his cell phone buzzed on his hip.

"Gibbs," he answered gruffly.

"Boss, we sent a BOLO on Andy Hunt around to the local LEOs and base security," McGee's frenetic voice came across the line. "We already got a hit from security…" The younger man paused nervously.

"Boss, Hunt came on base fifteen minutes ago."

*****

Ziva strode purposefully to the visitor's space she had parked her car earlier that afternoon. As she pulled her keys from her pocket, she heard the minute scuff of movement behind her. She did not break stride, instead continuing her path to her car while her free hand surreptitiously retrieved her cell phone from her pocket and dialed Gibbs' number. She put it on speaker before smoothly depositing it on the rear bumper of the car parked next to hers as she passed.

She moved to the back hatch of her grey four-door to remove her go-bag, but paused as she inserted the key, looking for a reflection of movement in the door's tinted rear window. Her stalker's rush almost took her by surprise as she caught sight of him at the last moment.

His attempt to body slam her into the vehicle was thwarted by her swift sidestep, but the attacker reacted much more quickly than she anticipated, managing to grab a fistful of her hair and slamming her head into the hatch, stunning her for a split second before she lashed out with a booted foot, catching her assailant in the thigh, a few scant inches from his groin. The grip on her hair slackened, but the hand itself had got tangled in the strands, keeping her head a captive for the brief moment her attacker was distracted by the pain of the blow. Then the grip tightened once more and pulled her head down to meet his rising knee.

Her cheek and nose exploded into fiery pain, and she barely noticed the hand in her hair working its way free, only to grasp her shoulder and spin her around. The man's other arm a snaked around her other side, and her keen eyes spotted the familiar glint of the knife in his hand as it came up towards her throat.

She reacted instinctively, her head snapping back to collide with her assailant's own nose as her hands came up to block the knife-wielding arm. His wrist was captured in a vice grip, and with a sharp twist, the small bones under her fingers cracked. Her free hand caught the knife as it fell from his useless fingers, then she pivoted while she maintained her grip on his wrist, fracturing both ulna and radius in one swift motion.

She held the knife in her left hand, the blade pointing away from her in modified warrior's grip. The serrated edge faced her opponent, but it was the hilt of the knife she slammed into the tender nerve just under the man's armpit. Her boot darted out as he dropped, crashing into his sternum with explosive force, followed by another rapid kick to the face. In the blink of an eye, she had swooped in and perched on the man's chest, seeing for the first time that her attacker was little more than a boy.

But that realization slipped by her with little consequence as her vision tunneled and she brought the knife up to press against his throat.

********

Gibbs sprinted towards the parking garage, listening to the sounds of the fight coming through the phone. It had been unnerving to hear so little sound—he was used to hearing Ziva's fierce shouts when she struck out, a habit resulting from years of training. Without her voice, he was uncertain of who was getting the worst of it, or how bad the damage was going to be. But it wasn't until all sound on the other end ceased that the blood froze in his veins.

Moments later, he burst out of the stairwell and into the parking garage, gun drawn.

"ZIVA!"

He quickly scanned the garage, but when he didn't see anything, he ran towards where he knew the visitor's parking to be. As soon as he rounded the corner, his gut clenched.

Ziva was kneeling on a prone figure, her right hand flat against his chest as she pinned him to the pavement. As he got closer, Gibbs saw that her left hand was curled tightly around the hilt of a knife that was digging harshly into the fragile skin of his throat. It was enough to render him immobile, but had yet to break the skin.

"Ziva," he said again, this time more calmly. He stepped forward slowly so as not to spook her. She didn't even look at him, her focus glued to the boy on the pavement. Gibbs could see the fire in her eyes, and instantly realized that she was on the edge of returning the injury Andy Hunt's father had bestowed upon her four months ago.

"Stand down, Ziva," he said. His voice was firm, but it fell on deaf ears. Gibbs knew then that approaching her as her boss was the wrong way to get through to her. "Ziva, listen to me," he said, his voice softer. "You don't want to do this." She gave no indication she was listening to him, but he pushed on regardless. "This punk isn't worth it, Ziver. Don't throw away everything for the sake of vengeance—it's not worth it." She blinked, but didn't move. Gibbs stepped closer, his gun trained on the perp. "Let go of the knife," he coaxed, taking another step close. "I've got him, he's not going anywhere."

He moved one more step closer, putting him within arm's reach of both Hunt and Ziva. He debated who to reach for first; the perp didn't seem to be going anywhere, but at the same time, Gibbs knew reaching for Ziva could push her over the edge.

Ziva made the decision for him, sliding the knife out of arms reach as she rolled off her attacker and inched away until she came to a stop a few feet away. Gibbs reacted quickly, rolling Hunt over and slapping the cuffs on his wrists, broken bone or no, as he dutifully recited Miranda. The kid didn't resist or say anything at all during the process, instead simply lying there on his front as Gibbs glanced at Ziva.

He took in the blood dripping from her nose, and the growing bruises on her forehead and cheek. She was sitting on the cold pavement, her arms wrapped loosely around her legs as she let the effects adrenaline fade.

"You okay?"he asked from where he knelt next to Hunt. She looked at him for a long moment before finally nodding in affirmation. She didn't break eye contact as her lips twisted into a tired smirk, a single eyebrow arching in a muted amusement as her fingers moved fluidly through the air. Gibbs read them, and then let out a laugh of relief.

_What took you so long?_


	2. Sight

A/N: Wow... longest chapter to date. I'm exhausted and going to bed now... Please review if you can...I think I've earned it after this, yes?

ENJOY!!!

* * *

Gibbs stood stiffly in his tuxedo, his back ramrod straight as he waited for the rest of the team to arrive. He hated the fact he had been the first to arrive, but did not have long to dwell on his displeasure before the familiar chime of medal on medal announced Ducky's approach. Gibbs turned to face his old friend, a casual glance taking stock of the ribbons on the Scotsman's chest with a critical eye. The old Gunnery Sergeant in him approved of their careful placement—he had expected nothing less of the medical examiner. He nodded mutely.

"Thank you for your approval, Jethro," Ducky commented knowingly. Gibbs grinned—the good doctor knew him a little too well. "This promises to be a rather lavish party," Ducky continued, glancing around at the richly decorated banquet hall. Gibbs grunted noncommittally.

The multiple memos and email announcements had indeed promised an extravagant evening, but Gibbs couldn't have cared less. He was here due to no less than an explicit mandate handed down by Director Vance himself. As the leader of a Major Case Response Team with the highest solve rate in the agency, it had been critical for Gibbs and his team to make an appearance and rub elbows with the biggest brass in Washington. The affair was guaranteed to be a smorgasbord of federal security organizations, in the spirit of promoting interagency cooperation. But as with all formal or official events, Gibbs would have preferred to be anywhere else.

"Where is your better half this evening?" The medical examiner inquired. Much to his chagrin, Gibbs was unable to do more than shrug in response.

"She's with Abby," he said. "Abs called a half hour ago and said they were gonna be a little late." He paused. "Apparently they had some kind of delay." To be perfectly honest, he was reluctant to investigate the nature of the 'delay'.

As soon as Abby had heard about the mandatory attendance of Team Gibbs, the forensic scientist had immediately jumped at the chance to dress Ziva up for the occasion. The Israeli had tried to protest, but Abby could not be dissuaded. By the end of that week, Ziva had ceded control to Abby.

Gibbs knew that Ziva had not wanted to come to the ball either, perhaps even more vehemently than he. He didn't blame her—after all, she would be surrounded by dozens of her former colleagues the entire evening, as well as even more federal employees who had heard through the Beltway grapevine about the events that had taken place six months ago. Even now, the anger and guilt over the botched mission burned in Gibbs' gut. He could only imagine what Ziva was still feeling.

He could clearly recall the joint operation that had gone south in a matter of minutes, being on the other end of the mic to hear the sounds of a wordless struggle and shouts of warning from Tony and McGee. He remembered storming into the abandoned building only to find six men standing over Ziva's crumpled form, the largest of them wielding a bloodied 2x4 in a meaty paw, while another four were busy pinning down McGee and Dinozzo with small arms fire as the two agents took cover behind a conveniently placed pile of abandoned furniture. He recalled the coppery scent of blood as he rushed to Ziva's aid, taking in the sight of the growing pool of blood dripping from the back of her head.

And then there were the memories of gently lifting her hair with one hand as he searched for a pulse with the other—of seeing the splinter of wood that had lodged itself in the back of her skull, just below the base of her ponytail. He remembered finding a faint pulse, against all odds, and calling frantically for an ambulance. Waiting for hours in the hospital waiting room with the rest of the team as the doctors operated. The sinking of his gut as the doctors relayed their prognosis.

A fractured skull. Multiple blunt force traumas. Irreparable damage to the occipital lobe, the visual processing center of the brain.

Permanent blindness.

And then, before Gibbs even had a chance to go back to visit her, Fornell had informed him that her actions had saved the lives of multiple FBI agents, even as the same actions endangered her own. By dawn the next day the story was all over the Beltway, the biggest news since Caitlin Todd's murder six years ago.

The sound of Ducky offering a word of greeting alerted Gibbs to the arrival of Fornell in the flesh, the FBI agent's slumped shoulders looking dapper in a crisp tux, his expression every inch as miserable as Gibbs felt. The two team leaders exchanged nods of acknowledgement as the FBI agent came to stop beside them, his hands jammed unceremoniously in his pockets. By this time the hall was becoming crowded, and for a moment they watched the guests began to mingle.

"I see you got roped into this too," Fornell commented dourly. Gibbs hummed an affirmation. "Where's your better half?" Ducky chuckled as Gibbs rolled his eyes before shooting a pointed look at Fornell, his eyebrow arched speculatively. Fornell blinked. "What?" Gibbs gave a wry grin.

"On the way—"

"Gibbs!!"

The excited cry from behind them prompted all three men to turn to watch Abby scurrying towards them. She was alone, Gibbs' quick scan of the room yielding no sight of Ziva. Concern flooded him, but he stamped it down as he stepped forward to meet her. His hand came up to brush her upper arm with warm familiarity as he leaned in close.

"Where is she?" he asked in a low voice. Abby looked at him with wide eyes.

"Oh, she's with McGee," she responded animatedly. "There was a line for the valet and she decided to come in with him."

"Is she okay?" Abby's dark brow furrowed as she registered Gibbs' concerned tone.

"Mmm, yeah, about that," she said, wringing her hands worriedly. "That's why I came in early." When she noticed the worry in Gibbs' eyes, she scrambled to reassure him. "Oh, no! Physically she's fine. Better than fine, even. I mean, she tried to threaten McGee with bodily harm into driving her back home. It's actually a good thing I was there, because McGee was really close to caving, but don't worry, they're here, I promise—"

"Abs…"

"Oh, right," she said, getting back on track. "The thing is, she's really really nervous about being here. And I mean _really _nervous." Abby looked him in the eye, conveying to him the seriousness of the situation. "I think not being able to see what she looks like tonight is really freaking her out." She paused. "Well, that, and the fact there's going to be over a hundred people here… I'm not really sure which one is bothering her more." She grimaced. "I'm using the word really a lot." Gibbs tilted his head at her, catching her eye once more. "Sorry," she apologized again.

"Don't apologize, Abs," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Thanks for letting me know." Now that his immediate concern had been assuaged, he was able to notice the scientist's attire.

She was clad in a black halter dress that sported a plunging neckline and a hemline that came down to her knees, displaying wide expanses of alabaster skin and long legs. Stripes of black beading followed the shape of the dress, matching the thin shimmering wrap that was draped over her arms. In place of her customary platform boots, a pair of strappy black stilettos with heels that were easily three inches adorned her slender feet.

"You look beautiful," Gibbs whispered in her ear as he led her to where Fornell and Ducky were waiting. She beamed.

"Aw, thank you, Gibbs!" she exclaimed. "You're so sweet!" Her beaming smile shifted to a grin. "But if you think _I_ look nice, just wait until you see Ziva."

"Abigail," Ducky greeted as soon as the pair had returned, "you look stunning this evening."

"And you, Ducky," she replied, "look absolutely dashing." Gibbs saw a mischievous glint in her eye. "I especially like the medals." She peered at them for a moment before pointing at one in particular. "Especially that one."

"Really?" the doctor responded. "That medal is actually the least interesting of them all! You see, it is one earned simply by serving in a time of war, but by the time I had completed my training, the war had already ended! But if you look closely at the one next to it—"

"Does he always do that?" Fornell interrupted, looking at Gibbs in amiable condescension.

"Well, yeah, Tobias," the Marine responded. "You should know that by now."

"Sorry, it's difficult keeping up with all of your team's neuroses…" Gibbs pegged him with a hard stare, but the FBI agent failed to notice as his attention was captured by something over Gibbs' shoulder.

"Oh, my," he heard Ducky exclaim in a soft voice. A quick glance told Gibbs the older man's gaze was similarly occupied. It was then that his keen ears detected the slight reduction in chatter from the crowded room. It wasn't overly noticeable, but enough to spark Gibbs' curiosity. He turned to follow the two men's gaze, only to feel the breath leave his body as his eyes quickly found the focus of their stares.

Looking to the grand staircase he himself had descended upon his arrival earlier that evening, Gibbs' keen blue eyes were immediately drawn to the slim figure poised on the top step. McGee stood next Ziva, her arm draped elegantly through his as he escorted her into the hall. Her free hand reached out to brush against the marble handrail that lined the staircase. To the unwitting eye, her posture was natural, but Gibbs knew that she was subtly establishing a frame of reference, using her sense of touch to acquaint herself with her surroundings.

After a moment, McGee guided her to the edge of the first stair. Gibbs watched the younger agent murmur something to her, and he knew from experience that the novelist was telling her the depth of the step in front of them. Her first step down was still hesitant, but McGee was patient, and by the third step her movements were more natural.

As she slowly descended the staircase, Gibbs was presented with an unhindered view of the Israeli. Her floor-length dress was made of red satin, simple with wide straps that were partially hidden by the long dark curls that had been left to fall softly against her shoulders. Her neckline was modest compared to Abby's, drawing to an end mid-sternum, but the line of small rhinestones at its point tastefully flattered her natural figure. The fabric of the dress was gathered back across her torso, but then hung naturally from the waist down, further accentuating the fluid lines of her hour-glass shape.

A number of thin gold bangles adorned Ziva's left wrist, brushing against marble as her fingers trailed lightly along the smooth surface of the rail as she descended. Gibbs was able to catch glimpses of delicate silver heels each time she took a step down, but the length of the skirt kept Gibbs from getting a closer look. Finally drawing his gaze back to her face, Gibbs found himself unable to look away.

Where Abby's make-up had been dark and dramatic, the scientist had been much more conservative with Ziva. Her golden complexion needed little help to glow in the warm lighting of the hall. The rich but seemingly natural color of her lips drew attention away from her eyes, which sported only the barest of black liner. Gibbs gave kudos to Abby for the trick… the last thing Ziva would have wanted was a heavy, smokey eye color, which would have only drawn even more attention to the Israeli's unnerving gaze.

Because her lack of sight was due to a brain injury, her brown eyes had remained clear and uncloudy. But they no longer focused, instead remaining lax, regardless of where a sound may draw her gaze. During the summer months, she wore sunglasses when outdoors, which had been a small mercy in her first few months of learning to adapt, but refused to wear them when indoors. Gibbs approved of her personal rule, feeling absolutely no qualms about her unresponsive orbs. He still loved looking into her eyes; he had found that, despite her being unable to see, they continued to serve as windows into her soul.

"Told you!" came a sultry voice in Gibbs' ear. A quick glance to his left revealed a very smug Abby. She looked at him expectantly. "What? Did you think I was going to let her come here looking anything less than stunning? That right there is a masterpiece, my friend." She grinned. "Now go get her before somebody else swoops in."

Gibbs obeyed without a word, his focus once again on the beauty coming towards him. As he went, Ducky stepped forward to take his place next the forensic scientist.

"You outdone yourself tonight, Abigail," the elder man commented. "Our friend looks absolutely ravishing."

"Yeah," Abby agreed, wistfully gazing after her silver-haired fox. "She deserves it."

"Yes," Ducky said. "I do believe she does."

*****

Gibbs strode forward with purpose as he navigated the crowded hall, intent on joining his beautiful date. He reached the base of the staircase just before they did; with a small grin, McGee brought Ziva to a stop a few steps from the bottom. The younger man leaned in close to her ear, whispering softly. Gibbs grinned when he saw her cheeks flush as she dipped her head bashfully.

"Ziva," he said warmly in way of greeting. He knew the dull roar of a banquet hall full of chattering men and women would have made it impossible for her to hear his approach; hearing his voice alerted her to his location, and her head lifted imperceptibly as she regained some of her confidence.

McGee relinquished his hold on the Israeli when Gibbs offered her his arm, and guided her hand to where the Marine's waited patiently. The young agent's touch was gentle and polite, but also protective as his freed hand came up to rest against the middle of her back to reassure her of his continued presence until her fingers met Gibbs'.

When her fingers recognized the calluses of Gibbs' rough palm she smiled, whispering a soft thank-you to her escort. With a nod to Gibbs, McGee took his leave, moving to join Abby, his own date for the evening. Gibbs returned the nod before focusing once more on Ziva, taking in her uncharacteristically nervous expression. With a gentle pull he guided her down the final two steps until she had joined him, their bodies inches from one another.

"Jethro." Her smooth, lilting voice cut through the din, capturing his attention. A wry smirk curled her lips. "You look handsome." Gibbs grinned at her attempt to break past her insecurities, running his hand up her bare arm as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"And you are stunning." Her hand tightened around his in silent appreciation before her expression became serious.

"How many?" she asked. This was familiar practice—since her injury she had been rendered unable to take stock of her surroundings as she was accustomed to. Now, instead of visually sweeping the rooms she entered, Gibbs gave her a verbal report. Occupants, exits, stairs, and prominent features were all factored in, not only for safety but for her to help navigate the room should she need to do so herself.

"Over a hundred people so far," Gibbs replied casually, beginning to lead her to where the others were waiting. A gentle hand in the small of her back acting as the only guidance she needed. "Three exits to your right spaced thirty feet from each other, two directly ahead and one in left corner behind us. Wall to the left is all sheet glass. Stage set up behind us about waist high and six feet from the door. Food table is along the windows, with a bar twenty yards ahead. About thirty tables between us and the bar."

"How many chairs are at each table?"

"Eight." Gibbs knew she was silently mapping out the room in her mind. It wasn't precise, but it would be enough for her to have some idea of where she was. "No pattern to their spacing." His brow furrowed as he noticed how incongruous the tables now seemed. He would have thought it would be more aesthetically pleasing if they had bothered to make the room symmetrical—but then he realized most of the crowd wouldn't even notice. Hell, he hadn't even noticed until just now.

"I suppose you are thinking I should have brought the tappy stick, yes?" Gibbs grinned at her name for the white cane her doctors had issued her—but rarely ever used. Though she initially investigated its potential use as a weapon, she had eventually deemed it useless. The continuous tapping that would be necessary to utilize it properly had gotten on her nerves, and so she had thrown it into her hall closet and had rarely pulled it out again since. And if Gibbs were totally honest, she didn't need it.

The weeks following her release from the hospital had been difficult. Ziva had been bitter and angry, frustrated at her sudden handicap. She'd had incessant migraines as a result from the head trauma she had sustained, which only added to her agitation. Gibbs had taken an extended leave from work so that he could stay with her as she adjusted to her new life, a decision she had only resented. She'd been sullen, and curt when she did deign to speak to him. She'd hated having to rely on others to function on a daily basis, and had only grown more disheartened each time she bumped into a chair, wall, or table; each time she tripped, or couldn't find something she needed, she would withdraw. Gibbs had been stuck between a rock and a hard place—she would either begrudge his help when he attempted to make life easier for him, or he would be forced to watch her struggle through tasks that were once second nature.

One day three weeks after her return home, Gibbs had been called to the Navy Yard to clear up a problem that had been found with some paperwork from a past case. It had only taken a few hours, but by the time he started his return drive, his mind could focus on nothing but his concern for the woman waiting for him in Silver Springs. He had made sure Ziva had tucked her cell phone into her pocket before he left, as his number had been programmed into the speed dial, but he could think of a thousand and one ways something could have happened and she had been unable call him.

But he had been surprised to rush back to the apartment only to find her pacing the apartment, over and over. She would stop periodically, then continue on her way. She had barely stopped to acknowledge his return, absorbed in her task. It wasn't until later that evening that he had discovered she had been counting, her steps creating a map in her mind that she could refer to when moving about. She counted again and again, to each and every piece of furniture in the place, from every conceivable direction. Gibbs understood the concept in a vague sense, but to this day still remained intrigued as to her process. But whatever she had done, it worked—by the end of the week she was maneuvering around her apartment as easily as she had before the botched op.

But both of them still had to adjust; furniture had to remain in exactly the same spot, as well as the appliances and items she used on a daily basis. If something was used, it was put back in the exact same spot, so that Ziva could locate it the next time it was needed. Most of the cooking fell to Gibbs, as she had yet to find a way to measure ingredients, particularly liquids, without her sight. He had been nervous about letting her use the stove or sharp knives, worried that she would unwittingly harm herself, but as time went on, his over-protectiveness eased, and she regained even more of her independence.

With her rediscovered independence came a greater ability to accept help, especially when journeying out of her apartment. Gibbs was always with her, guiding her and giving reassurances. Initially the loud chaos of the world around her had confused and disoriented her, but as time passed she was able to identify the sounds and smells that assaulted her remaining senses. Their daily walks through the neighborhood became less about reconnaissance and more about simply enjoying the warm sun and fresh air.

By the time Gibbs finally returned to NCIS, he was confident that Ziva would all right on her own. Not only could she navigate her apartment like a pro, she was also familiar with the streets near it. She was able to go down the street to the privately owned market she used to frequent, and was able to cross the busy streets safely, even without the use of the white cane she was currently referring to.

Gibbs grinned.

"Naw," he said smugly. "I was thinking that I now have legitimate excuse to be at your side all night." His revelation was rewarded with a warm laugh from the slender woman at his side.

"We share a bed, Jethro," she pointed out, her smile audible. "I think that is perfectly legitimate excuse to be my escort this evening, yes?" Gibbs chuckled his agreement. "Have you seen Abby yet?" Ziva asked. Her head tilted slightly towards him, but her unseeing gaze did not quite find him.

"Mhmm," he responded. "Told us you were helping McGee park the car." He felt no need to relay the scientist's concerns about Ziva's insecurities.

"How does she look?" Her voice was curious. "I tried to ask her as she was helping me get ready, but she refused to talk about herself."

"She looks beautiful," he replied honestly. "Black dress, kind of sparkly. Wearing spiked heels I would not want to be on the business end of, and McGee is having difficulty keeping his eyes to himself." He glanced down at Ziva, only to see her trying to hide a broad grin. "What?"

"You said _sparkly_," she said, nearly choking on a laugh that threatened to spill out. Gibbs rolled his eyes as a smirk tickled his own lips.

"Yeah, well how else would you describe it?" His fingers casually tapped a gentle tattoo against the skin of her back. "I had an eight year daughter," he reminded her. "I know sparkly."

"Ah, yes," she responded warmly, her broad smile now unhindered. Gibbs' first family was no longer a sigma between them; Ziva had accepted them as part of their life together, just as Gibbs had accepted Ari as a pivotal figure in Ziva's childhood, a separate entity from the man the Marine had battled with.

"Sparkly is not usually something you associate with Abby," Ziva continued. She paused. "I can imagine it, though." She nodded. "Actually, black sparkles would suit Abby quite well."

Before Gibbs had a chance to respond, they met with the rest of their friends.

"Ziva, my dear, so glad you joined us," Ducky said. He gingerly took her hand, brushing his fingers along her forearm, alerting her to his location. He stepped forward to greet her, and slender, sensitive fingers tickled his jaw as she leaned in to receive the polite peck he bestowed on her cheek.

"It should not come as a surprise, Ducky," she replied with a smile. "You know of the Director's orders. Apparently I am subjected to the same trials as Gibbs, regardless of my special agent status." In the months that had followed Ziva's injury, she had heard nothing about her employment status, but as she knew she would be unable to be useful as a Special Agent without being able to use her firearm, she had assumed that her badge had been revoked.

"Well, it wouldn't have been the same without you," the medical examiner informed her. Gibbs watched her lips purse as she recognized the blatant flattery, but she did not question its honesty.

"Certainly made this blowout more interesting."

Ziva's head turned towards the newest voice, brows raised.

"Special Agent Fornell," she said, her tone one of surprise. The corner of her mouth lifted minutely. "You were also coerced into attending?"

"You think NCIS is the only agency with a pain-in-the-ass Director?" the coarse FBI agent scoffed.

"That question had better be rhetorical," came a deep voice from behind Abby and McGee, to Gibbs' and Ziva's right. Gibbs felt Ziva tense slightly. Her spine straightened imperceptibly as her shoulders squared, her head turning towards the newest arrival.

"Director," she acknowledged respectfully. Gibbs nodded in Vance's direction, only to be returned with pointed stare.

"Agent David," Vance greeted, "a pleasure. It's been a long time." The director said nothing else, but also made no move to leave. His gaze never left Gibbs'. Ziva sensed the standoff, and her blind stare flicked towards Gibbs' general direction.

"You need something, Leon?" Gibbs' tone was less than respectful, and he usually avoided first names when they were anywhere but the Director's office, but Vance's expression irked him.

"Just wanted to be sure you were aware that your presence is expected for the _entire_ function," the Director supplied. "Your typical perfunctory visit is not going to cut it." Gibbs rolled his eyes, but didn't protest. "As long as we're clear." He gave a brief nod to the rest of the group. "Enjoy your evening." And then he was moving on, quickly finding some unidentifiable bureaucratic to converse with.

"That seems unlikely," Ziva murmured to Gibbs. He looked at her.

"How did you know he was outta earshot?" he asked. She smirked at him.

"I am already blind, Jethro. What was he going to do if he did hear me?" Gibbs grinned, but his response was preempted by Tony's entrance.

"Aw, man! That was going to my excuse!"

"Tony!" Abby exclaimed happily, throwing her arms around the senior field agent's neck. Tony returned the embrace heartily.

"Hey, Abs," he said. The Goth released him, and he took the opportunity to reach a hand out to McGee. "Tim," he offered, his tone uncharacteristically polite. McGee hesitated, thrown by the change in behavior, but then accepted the handshake.

"Tony," the younger man greeted as a tall brunette came up to the group, her slender hand reaching up to palm Tony's designer-clad shoulder.

"Ah, hey," Tony said, his expression brightening as he turned to wrap an arm around the girl's waist. He presented her to the rest of the group. "You guys know my date…" A chorus of responses followed.

"Oh, yeah, sure…"

"Of course we do!"

"Ah, yes, I do believe we've already met…"

Gibbs saw Ziva's brow furrow slightly in consternation, as Tony had yet to provide a name, but before the Marine had a chance to help her out, the date herself spoke up.

"It's _so_ good to see you again, Ziva!" the brunette gushed. "Your dress is stunning!" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You look really nice tonight," she added.

Ziva's eyes narrowed at the naggingly familiar voice. She was aware that she knew the voice's owner, but she could not place her. Her mind raced through her memories from before her vision had darkened, running through the many possibilities of who it could be. Gibbs was at a loss to lend her aid, as he himself did not recognize the woman, but a moment later, Ziva's eyes widened with recognition.

"Hannah?"

"You remember me!" Hannah exclaimed happily, a wide smile brightening her features. Ziva's brow furrowed, but an amused smirk remained firmly planted on her lips.

"You are Tony's date?" Her tone was dripping with mirthful skepticism.

"I know, crazy, right?" Hannah responded animatedly. "I was going to turn him down, but there was a rumor that the Major Case Response Team were _all_ going to be attending, so I accepted." The girl's green eyes softened bashfully. "Now I'm really glad I did come," she added, her eyes passing over Ziva's frame appreciatively, an act not missed by Gibbs.

He suddenly began to chuckle—he now remembered where he knew Hannah's name from. He had overheard one of Tony and Ziva's conversations, where Tony had been attempting to prove his prowess with women, only to be shut down by Ziva's superior observational skills. It had been the morning McGee had gotten trapped in the women's prison, if he was not mistaken.

His laugh was soundless, and barely perceptible, but Ziva felt them, thanks to their close proximity. Her hand subtly drifted between them, only suddenly lash out and catch the sensitive skin of his buttock in a sharp pinch. He merely grinned in response, which Ziva also seemed to sense.

"Behave," she muttered, keeping a polite smile on her lips as Tony took charge of the situation once more, pulling his date towards the bar for something to drink. Gibbs leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Come on," he said softly, "it's not every day I get to see you hit on… by a girl."

This time, the offending hand swatted his thigh.

"Enough, Jethro." But her tone was mirthful; she was just as amused as he was. Just then, Ziva's brow crinkled. "Why is everyone coming in this direction?" she asked.

Gibbs looked around, his sharp gaze surveying the crowd. Indeed, many of the guests were heading their way. He looked at his watch.

"Dinner's about to be served," he answered.

"Quite so," Ducky agreed. "We should go find our seats. I believe we are table 13."

"I love that number!" Abby remarked as the group began to drift towards their table. Ziva's hand brushed against the chairs they passed, silently counting. "It's the best number out there! I don't know why it's been stigmatized as an unlucky number. I mean, I was born on a thirteen! So, obviously, it _has_ to be a lucky number…"

****

After the meal had been served, the guests began to mingle once more. Another visit from the Director had prompted Gibbs to make the rounds, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with those he had worked with in the past. Ziva had declined to join him as he did so, instead preferring to remain with Ducky at their table.

By this time, the live music on the stage had shifted from soft, soothing strains to a more upbeat tempo that Abby and McGee had taken advantage of, joining the other couples who had begun to dance in the center of the music hall. Soon after their departure, Tony and Hannah had followed, the senior agent dusting off his dancing skills to impress the young brunette. Fornell also took his leave, moving to speak with some of his fellow agents, leaving Ducky and Ziva alone at the table.

Neither friend minded, and were soon conversing easily with one another. After a while, at Ziva's hesitant request, Ducky began to describe the hall in great detail. His natural verbosity came in handy and he was able to relate the dinner, the guests, and the decorations, all with great interest. The two friends sat close to one another so that the medical examiner did not have to shout to be heard, and his wizened hand soon came to cover hers as it rested on her silk-clad thigh. The touch was warm and intimate, but not at all lewd or suggestive. Ziva found herself relaxing slightly, taking comfort from the familiar contact. She was able to lose herself in the older man's words, absorbed by the picture he was so skillfully painting in her mind.

The sensation of a warm presence taking up residence in the chair next to hers—Gibbs'—pulled her out of her thoughts. She tensed slightly, realizing it was unlikely it was one of her teammates, as they knew she preferred them to announce their presence by saying something as they approached, or, if that failed, a light touch. This unidentified brush of air did none of that.

"Special Agent David," a male voice said, "it's an honor to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

Ziva suddenly got a whiff of strong cologne and cigarette smoke, and deduced that the man was extending his hand for an introductory shake. Instead of blindly searching for the hand being offered, her hands remained motionless as responded.

"And you are?" she asked, her voice aloof. He did not seem to expect such a reaction, as she heard his breath stutter the slightest bit.

"Special Agent Danny Fuller," the presence responded, "Federal Bureau of Investigation. At your service."

"And which is at my service?" Ziva asked, bristling slightly. "The agent or the bureau?" She paused. "It does not really matter; I have no need for either." She felt Ducky's hand shift, gripping hers in reassurance. A slight squeeze in return told him she could handle the stranger.

"Then I guess it's a good thing it's neither," Fuller replied. "I'm just man, hoping to share a conversation with a beautiful woman."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Actually, I've found the opposite is more often true." The agent shifted closer. "Did anyone ever tell you that it's rude to ignore a handshake when it's offered?" Ziva rolled her eyes as she bit back a scoff, and began to turn back to Ducky, losing what little interest the stranger had held. She was familiar with his type— he thought calling out one's flaws in so direct a manner would be found by their owner refreshing, and sets him apart from the pack. Ziva had no tolerance for his tactics. "And, do I have something in my teeth? You haven't even looked at me for more than a second since I sat down."

Ziva's expression hardened at the man's words—he was worse even than Tony. Where her partner was charming, though a tad chauvinistic, this man was self-absorbed and possessed an over-inflated ego. He thought himself a smooth-talking ladies' man, but was in fact nothing more than a slimeball.

"You obviously have not heard as much about me as you claim, Agent Fuller," she with a sharp voice, "as the first thing people usually gossip about these days is the fact that I am six months blind. Which means that if I looked at you at all in the time you have been here it was purely on accident and without my knowledge. And it also excuses me from having to shake hands with people I do not know." Ziva felt Ducky lift his brandy glass to his lips, and knew he was hiding his smile.

"Oh," Fuller said, not missing a beat. "Wow. I didn't even notice. I apologize." He reached out and took her free hand. "I was just so taken by your beauty, I was simply… swept away." Ziva resisted the urge to head-slap herself. Of course he had already known her handicap—he'd said what he did to get a rise out of her, and she had played right into it. "Agent David, would you give me the honor of a dance?"

"No," came her curt reply, pulling her hand from his grasp as she turned back to face Ducky's direction. Fuller simply scooted his chair closer to hers.

"Why not?" he inquired, obviously trying to hook her back into conversation.

"No." She repeated, beginning to lose her patience. When the man made no move to leave, she stood, intent on putting some physical distance between herself and him. "Excuse me, Ducky," she said politely. She carefully slipped between their two chairs, but was intercepted on the other side by Agent Fuller, who gripped her arm with a firm grip.

"Just one dance," the agent implored.

"I said I was not interested, Special Agent Fuller," she said, her tone becoming razor-sharp. His proximity was nauseating; Ziva made a mental note to make certain Gibbs never took up smoking in the future.

"How badly would just one dance hurt?"

"It would hurt you much more than it would me," she replied. "How badly would a hand full of broken fingers hurt?" She clenched her fists in an attempt to resist lashing out at the man. "You will find out for yourself if you do not remove your hand from my arm."

"That's no way to treat someone who's trying to do you a favor," Fuller said, not heeding her warning. Ziva froze—favor? She felt indignant fury flare within her as she realized what Fuller was doing. He thought that she was sitting alone with an old man because everyone else was avoiding her, was too put off by her blindness to spend too much time around her. Her anger was two-fold; he was assuming her blindness stigmatized her, and also insinuating that her friends, her family, were actually that shallow.

Ziva was moments from breaking Fuller's nose when a warm familiar hand grasped her free arm, keeping it fixed by her side as he injected himself into the altercation.

"Ziva, would you care to join me for a drink?" Tony asked, his tone deceptively civil. Ziva could hear the undercurrent of content in her partner's voice, but knew it was not directed at her. He shifted closer to her, simultaneously offering his support and protection.

"I was here first, buddy," Fuller snarled, but was nearly cut off by Tony's quick reply.

"And the lady said she wasn't interested." There was a momentary battle of wills that made the air around Ziva sizzle. Finally, Fuller's offending hand released its hold on her arm. "Now get lost," the NCIS agent ordered.

The brusqueness of Tony's voice did not translate into his interaction with her as he gently guided her through the maze of tables over to the bar.

"I can take care of myself, Tony," she said, trying to be angry with him for his interference, but finding her ire was bleeding away at his respectful touch.

"Yeah, I know," he conceded impishly, "but I figured a bloodbath would definitely ruin the mood of the party, not to mention irk the Toothpick to no end, so I decided to step in. Put some of my effervescent charm and good looks to some use tonight." Ziva found herself smiling involuntarily.

"Your hot date not working out so well?" she needled gently. "I told you she was not smiling at you that day."

"Laugh it up, David," Tony returned good-naturedly. "Hannah does seem a little too content to talk about you all night… Not that I have any problem talking about you, when _you_ are the one talking about you. Especially when you are talking about what you like in bed…" A Cheshire grin grew on his lips as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You do realize now that when I talk about what I do in bed, I am also talking about what Gibbs does in bed, yes?"

Their secret had come out while Ziva was in the hospital, and Gibbs let slip to the nurses caring for her that they were dating. The team had overheard, but the circumstances had erased any misgivings they might have felt about being left out of the loop. Their relationship was now common knowledge, though it appeared Tony had momentarily forgotten, as Ziva heard him pause and felt the full-body twitch that ran under her fingers.

"Oh God," Tony said finally. "Oh man, that just… _bad_ mental image. I need to wash my mind out with lye and an SOS pad." Ziva laughed lightly at his reaction.

"You know, I think I could talk Jethro into trying something new," she said slyly. She lowered her voice to a seductive pitch. "Do you know if Hannah will be free later on tonight?"

"What? Of course..." His innocent voice trailed off before he could assure her that Hannah would most certainly _not_ be available. Ziva could almost hear the wheels in his mind working overtime. "Wait, you're interested in Hannah? You just—" He cut himself off again, this time making the connection as his tone turned to one of horrific shock. "Ziva! Don't say stuff like that! It's ludic— It's just plain—" Tony once again trailed off, and Ziva knew he was picturing it in his head.

"Actually," her partner mused, "the boss could probably hold his own. All right," he conceded, "we'll ask her before we leave. But only if you tell me all the good girl-on-girl stuff."

Ziva laughed heartily, her agitation from her interaction with Fuller vanishing. Her time away from the Navy Yard had allowed her to forget just how smooth a talker her partner was. The Italian was definitely on a much higher level than Fuller.

They reached the bar without any further incident, though Tony had had to glare away a few guys who had let their eyes linger too long. The senior field agent had been slightly disappointed to discover that his partner had been sleeping with the boss, and for several reasons. Ziva had not trusted him enough to share her secret, Gibbs had broken his own rule twelve, and to be honest, he had always hoped he would one day have a chance with the beautiful Israeli. But when he had seen Gibbs interact with her with tender patience and care, the hurt had bled away. Now, he played guard dog not only to help out Gibbs, but also out of respect for his partner and best friend.

"What're you drinking," he asked as Ziva reached out to brush her fingers along the polished counter of the bar.

"Ginger ale," she replied. Her nose picked up the scent of a familiar perfume as the person next to Tony shifted.

"Really?" Hannah asked, nursing a glass of white wine herself. "You don't seem like the kind of person who avoids alcohol."

"I am tonight," Ziva said. "I am the designated driver." A silent moment passed before Hannah started giggling as she recognized the joke. Ziva resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It wasn't that funny… of course she was not the designated driver. She simply no longer enjoyed the way alcohol affected her remaining senses. Without her sight, the slightest buzz from a beer or a glass of wine made her feel like she was trying to walk through water. It was disorienting and nauseating, and she had lost her taste for it.

"You are too funny!" Hannah remarked. "But you know, you probably have the right idea. Alcohol seems to cause more harm than good these days. Like in my senior year of college, my sorority took a trip down to Cabo…"

Ziva half-listened to the drunken, half-naked girls story, which she imagined had Tony drooling like an animal. Perhaps he was recalling his own notorious experiences. Ziva simply relaxed, listening to the room around her and cataloguing all of the things she noticed about the people in it. She heard the rasp of a life-long smoker at the far end of the bar, and a short distance away a woman was apparently having a hushed but heated argument about the way her husband was looking at… Oh.

Perhaps she should tell Abby to not pick out red dresses for her in the future.

*****

Back at the table, Fornell had rejoined Ducky, nursing a glass of bourbon as he scowled at the scene around him. Ducky was also observing the partygoers, but with a much lighter impression of the event. It was in crowds like this that he was able to practice his skills as a profiler, observing behavior and noticing subtle quirks that individualized each person from all others. He was so absorbed in his self-imposed task that he did not hear Gibbs approach from behind.

"Where's Ziva?" the Marine asked, startling the medical examiner from his thoughts. Ducky glanced up to find the stoic expression of his old friend looking down at him.

"Young Anthony escorted her to the bar," he responded amicably. "She was being hounded by another young man, an FBI Agent—"

"What?" Ducky was interrupted by the low exclamation of both of the men in his immediate proximity. Gibbs' expression had darkened, belying his fierce protectiveness of Ziva, while Fornell's expression bordered on surprise and anger.

"Yes, one Special Agent Andrew Fuller," Ducky clarified. "He offered himself a seat next to Ziva and proceeded to attempt buttering her up. Thought he was quite the showman, but Ziva was able to see right through his posturing." Ducky paused. "No pun intended, of course. The man was quite reluctant to heed her declination of his offer to dance, and was close to losing his fingers when Anthony stepped in."

Gibbs eyes narrowed, and Ducky knew he was seriously contemplating seeking out the hapless FBI agent to teach him a lesson after the fact. Fornell must have realized this too, as he quickly chimed in.

"Jethro, Fuller is just a cocky, wet-behind-the-ears rookie who hasn't had the pleasure of being cut down to size," Fornell said. "There's no need to kill him. He might actually prove to be decent in the field in a couple years." Gibbs glared at him, which Fornell met with an understanding gaze of his own. "I'll take care of it," he assured his friend.

After a long moment, Gibbs nodded with a muttered 'you'd better', before turning and making his way through the crowd to where Ziva was standing at the bar. Both men watched him go.

Ducky noticed Ziva's posture, her expression, and deduced that though she was not overly uncomfortable with her surroundings, she was not really enjoying herself either. Her body language was somewhat stiff, and her lax expression was neutral, an expression Ducky had learned to attribute to either thoughtfulness or analysis. The old Scotsman felt for the young woman, but was honest enough to realize that he knew very little about what she had been experiencing the past few months.

Ducky watched as Gibbs approached Ziva from behind, expecting the Marine to pause, or to see his lips move as he voiced his arrival. Instead, he was surprised when, while Gibbs was still in transit some six feet away, the Israeli's features creased into a smile, her posture relaxing in recognition. Her smile only grew as Gibbs slipped his hands casually onto her hips, only stopping his approach when his front was flush against her back.

Under Ducky's keen eyes, Ziva melted into his touch, leaning her back to rest against his shoulder as he leaned over her to order himself a drink. His arms wrapped around her in a hug, his hands remaining splayed on her abdomen. Her delicate hands covered his, gently keeping them in place. As Gibbs pulled his head back, he paused and whispered something through the curls shrouding Ziva's ears, his hushed words making her respond with a laugh. Gibbs displayed an unhindered grin of his own, his features crinkled with uncharacteristic delight.

They were instantly at ease with one another, the tension leaving both their frames upon sharing a touch, a whispered word. Though their relationship was, and had always been, unconventional, neither of them seemed to mind. They were two of the most jaded, wounded, isolated creatures Ducky had ever met, and yet they had found peace and solace in one another. Each knew sordid secrets of the other's past, and were aware that each still kept some hidden from the other, but both accepted that realization with an ease that astounded the medical examiner. He supposed birds of a feather would be an appropriate way to describe the unlikely duo, but even that barely seemed to skim the surface of what they shared.

It was now difficult to recall the friction that had existed between them when they had first met, when Ziva had been trying to protect her half-brother Ari. Anthony had once related to him that the beautiful Israeli had matched Gibbs fire for fire within minutes of being introduced, having slammed her hand onto Gibbs' desk with as much ferocity the Marine had often done. He wondered now what had changed between them during those short weeks as they hunted Caitlin's killer down. Why Gibbs had suddenly decided to trust her, despite the fact she was loyal Mossad operative who was also the handler of the man he was looking to kill.

It had also seemed incongruous for the Israeli to be the one to aid the return of Gibbs' memories. What actually transpired that night still remained a mystery to all but the two of them, but looking at them both now, it made perfect sense. They shared something: a bond that they themselves were barely able to comprehend, and the rest of the world could only hope to experience.

"He's one lucky son of a bitch," Fornell commented, his gruff voice unusually soft. Ducky did not need to ask of whom he was talking about. He took another moment to observe the happy couple. "He deserves it though," the FBI agent conceded.

"I do believe they both deserve it, Special Agent Fornell," Ducky told him. "They both deserve nothing less."

****

Back at the bar, Gibbs was tiring of the mindless chatter being exchanged between Tony and his date. He could tell Ziva was as well, as her fingers tapped idly against his hands. His eyes scanned the room briefly, but lingered on the couples who were moving to the beat of the music in the center of the hall. Gibbs pulled away, an idea quickly taking form in his mind as he gripped her hand as he slowly walked away from the bar. She turned at the loss of contact, but did not immediately follow his lead. Gibbs saw her brow furrow in silent question, and returned to her. She allowed him back into the buffer zone she usually maintained, and came so close that her nose brushed his chest. He ducked his head slightly to whisper in her ear.

"Come dance with me," Gibbs murmured softly. At this, Ziva drew back, her expression suddenly hurt and confused. Her unfocused eyes were worried, and Gibbs realized that he was walking a very thin line.

"What?" she asked, her voice breathless. She took a step back, and Gibbs saw her walls start to go up. "No…"

"Why not?" he asked huskily. "You love dancing, Ziver."

"Jethro." She could barely speak past the lump in her throat. "I can't—"

"Come with me," he said. He touched her cheek in a warm caress. When she didn't protest, Gibbs once again began to lead her towards the dance floor. He was met with a moment of resistance, but then she followed, reluctantly trailing behind him.

He cleared the way for her as he went, ensuring her steps were unhindered. They reached the dance floor just as the band finished their latest song. Gibbs slipped among the dancers as they milled about, and positioned himself in front of Ziva just as the band started the first strains of their next song. The music was soft and easy, light-hearted and smooth. One calloused hand cupped her slender hand while the other came to rest in the middle of her back. He stepped in close, but he could feel the barriers she had put up.

Her movements were stiff, a far cry from her usual graceful self. Her sightless eyes were darting about nervously, her jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Gibbs knew this was a risk, but one he would not back away from. He began to move with the music, guiding Ziva along with him as he took small, simple steps across the dance floor. She was clearly reluctant, her steps faltering as she struggled to move past her inhibitions. It was a matter of moments before she tread on his toes.

She murmured an apology, only to have Gibbs whisper a reassurance in return. A few moments later and the instance repeated itself. With each stumble her confidence waned, which only further made her missteps more frequent. But it wasn't until she tripped over her own feet and was saved from a vicious fall only by Gibbs' strong arms that she slowed to a stop.

Gibbs stood stationary with her among the other couples, patient and calm as she stood silently, her head bowed.

"Why are you doing this?"

Her voice was small and fragile, but cut through the murmur of the crowd around them. Her arms fell to her sides, but Gibbs refused to relinquish his grip on her hand. He gazed down at her, taking in her shoulders, slumped in defeat, and the shame she was unable to completely mask. He brushed a thumb over her cheek.

"Because I know you can," he told her.

Not only that, it was true what he had said before—she loved to dance. It was a passion she had hidden from the rest of the team, not because she didn't trust them, but because it had been the one thing in her life she had kept for herself. Everything else she had done had been for her father, for Mossad, for the mission; dance had been for herself. When she had finally let him in on her secret, he had turned around and surprised her by taking her out dancing at a local salsa club.

He had been more sore the next morning than he had felt in years, but it had been worth it to see her move and sway with the music. She had transformed into a different creature that night, beautiful and seductive in a way that had nothing to do with her prowess with a gun or her ability to wield a knife. She was pure woman, with none of the straight-backed dutiful Mossad officer persona she assumed on the job.

"Jethro, you _saw_ what just happened," she said. "It is obvious…"

"You're nervous," Gibbs interrupted. "You're doubting yourself. You shouldn't be." He paused, brushing his thumb across her chin tenderly. "Let's try one more time, okay?"

She didn't protest, and Gibbs stepped in once more, assuming the traditional posture. Ziva mimicked his motions, but he could tell her heart still wasn't in it. She followed the sway of his body, but it wasn't long before her body locked up and she stumbled again. A curse in coarse Hebrew passed her lips, her voice wavering as tears of frustration threatened to spill over. She tried to pull away from him, intent on leaving as the instinct to isolate herself until the emotional maelstrom passed took over, but he did not release her.

"Jethro," she muttered softly. "Let me go."

"No," Gibbs said bluntly.

"No?" Her voice was incredulous. "Jethro—"

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes," he repeated. He watched confusion overcome her, mixed with embarrassment and self-consciousness.

"Of all the things—Jethro, I seriously doubt _that_ will make any difference," she scoffed.

"Do you trust me?"

His question took her by surprise, he knew. He could tell by her momentary lack of response, and then her soft exhale as she took the time to think. When she spoke, her tone was soft, but sure.

"Always."

Gibbs smiled at her response.

"Then close your eyes."

He watched her hesitate, seeing the familiar twitch of her mouth as she chewed the inside of her bottom lip for a moment. But then, her eyes closed, and she stepped into him until their bodies were flush. Slowly, he rocked them both, easing into gentle and simple steps. Just back and forth, left and right, always returning to their starting point. Gibbs was hoping the repetitive motion would help put her at ease, but was disappointed when she remained stiff and uncertain in his arms. He glanced down at her, pleased to see her eyes were still closed, but didn't miss the furrow of her brow.

"Relax," Gibbs murmured softly, just loud enough for her to hear over the music. He grinned slightly when he saw her jaw jut out stubbornly as she prepared to let loose a biting retort. He beat her to the punch. "Don't fight it," he said. "Stop thinking. You know the steps. Let your instincts take over."

"Jethro…"

"Trust me to guide you, Ziver."

She didn't respond, and he left it at that. He never stopped the movement of their rocking dance, and never relaxed his hold on her. A few moments later, he was rewarded with the sensation of Ziva beginning to relax. Little by little she let go, allowing his warmth and the music ease the tension in her limbs.

Little by little, she gained the confidence he had fallen in love with. He smiled as he felt her find her footing, no longer simply mimicking his own steps. She never once opened her eyes, instead allowing Gibbs' firm grip guide her. When he felt her hips begin to sway in time to the music, Gibbs upped the stakes.

He spun them to the left, smooth and slow. Ziva let him take the lead, her movements only a little hesitant as he altered their steps. When they returned to their steady pacing, the muscles under Gibbs' touch had not reclaimed any of their earlier tension, instead loosening further as she followed him without a single misstep. She pulled away from him a little, but he didn't mind; he quickly realized she was giving herself room to maneuver, no longer feeling the need to hang onto him for support.

Gibbs responded to her newly rediscovered confidence, allowing himself to improvise. Strong arms guided Ziva's slender frame across the dance floor, shifting them into a gentle waltz as the band continued to play the smooth melody. Their steps became seamless, and as Ziva began to relax even more into the dance, Gibbs shifted his hands.

Ziva's dancer instincts took over, and she responded to his silent prompting with ease, allowing him to spin her out. Her feet followed the well-practiced movements easily, and her arm extended fluidly to follow the flow of the energy of the turn. Then he was pulling her back, and she came without hesitation. He grinned when he saw her smile, her delight evident in her sightless gaze.

Gibbs felt Ziva's slender hand trail up from his shoulder, coming to rest against the skin of his neck, the touch of her delicate fingers sending shivers down his spine. Glancing down at the woman in his arms, Gibbs wondered how he could be so lucky to have had the chance to have loved not only one, but two strong women.

He had loved Jenny, it was true, but what he had shared with her paled in comparison to the love he had held for Shannon, and now for Ziva. And now, he couldn't help but notice the similarities between Ziva and his first wife. The two women were worlds apart in both heritage and appearance, but what lay below the surface were eerily similar.

Both shared a fierce loyalty to the ones they loved. Gibbs remembered how, even as an active Marine, he couldn't hold a candle to Shannon when she felt her daughter was threatened. In his mind's eye, he could see the night they had returned home from a night out on the town to find the baby sitter smoking in the backyard while a three year old Kelly was seconds away from sticking a paperclip into an electrical socket. Shannon had let loose, burning the hapless teen's ears with a flood of scathing disparagements.

But for all that, Shannon had one of the kindest hearts he had ever before met, a trait that he had discovered lay beneath the cool shell of Ziva's personal defenses. She was an assassin, a trained Mossad operative who had seen and experienced so much tragedy that it had first seemed she had little humanity left within her. And when he had heard she was at NCIS to keep him from killing Ari, he had thought her as much a monster as the rogue spy. But then he had mentioned Mossad's botched retribution after the massacre at Munich, and he had been treated to a fiery surge of Ziva's ire as she slammed her hand onto his desk and stared him down with impenetrable conviction. And little by little more of that passionate personality emerged over the months she worked with them, allowing them little glances of her softer side.

She was surprisingly good with children, and as time passed she was able to give comfort to victims and their families. Her personality was violent, but the violence was never mindless. She used her talents only when the situation called for it, and those instances had always carried his approval. The one time the instance had not, the resulting damage had been accidental, exacerbated by a pre-existing medical condition that no one had been aware of. Ziva had not quite felt remorse for the man's death, but it had affected her more than she realized. She had realized the repercussions of her actions, and had known those actions to be wrong, and even went so far as to hand over her badge. Her goodness remained intact even with the troubled past she'd had, and sometimes Gibbs thought it made her goodness all the more remarkable. She had not gone down the same road her brother had, and he knew it would be all too easy to throw away morals, and to simply cease to care. But she hadn't lost that part of her humanity, even through the worst experiences a person could ever go through.

Ziva was strong. Just like Shannon had been. Shannon had been a rock, weathering whatever life had thrown her way. When her mother had died of a stroke when Kelly was five, Gibbs had thought he might lose his wife to the grief. She had spent much of the weeks that followed at her parents' house with the rest of her family, and when she finally came home at night she had broken down into tears that only faded when she succumbed to her exhaustion and slept. It wasn't until he had gone to drop off something that Shannon had forgotten one afternoon that he discovered that his wife was caring for her father, and brothers, and sisters as they grieved together; she was their lifeline in those dark weeks, and she had put their needs before her own. Her moments in the privacy of Gibbs' presence were the only time she had to deal with her own loss. It had been just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the strength of Shannon's character. She may not have been able to incapacitate a man three times her size, but she had put up with seemingly endless deployments and frequent moving.

Even to the last, Shannon had been strong. She had been alone with a young daughter while her husband was away at war, and had seen a horrific crime that would have sent anyone else into a tailspin. But Shannon had agreed to testify against the bastard, knowing what the possible outcome may be. She had been faced with two equally dark choices—not testify, and hope that no one noticed she had been at the scene of the crime, or to testify against the cartel and draw attention to herself and her daughter. She had ultimately chose in favor of the greater good, and worked with NCIS to bring the cartel down. Gibbs blamed himself every day for not being there to help her make the decision, and not being there to protect her and Kelly. But once he had gotten past the initial flood of grief and guilt, once he had exacted his retribution, he had also been proud of her for trying to do the right thing.

And now he had an equally strong person in his arms, another woman he loved without reserve. Ziva _could_ take down a man three times her size, but had lived a life filled with pain and disappointment. Even now, when she was a permanent addition to the NCIS MCRT, when she should have been relatively safe from her previous dangers, she had been dealt such a crippling blow that, had it been anyone else, Gibbs would have worried for their sanity. Her entire life, Ziva had been trained to rely on her acute and precise senses, relying on sight more than anything to keep herself and her colleagues safe.

She could spot a fake ID a mile away, she had once bragged, and could distinguish diamond from cubic zirconia with a mere glance. She had a near photographic memory, and could disarm a wide range of explosive devices in the space of a minute. But all of her talents, all of her "ninja-skills" as Tony had called them, relied on her eyes. Her eyes were what informed her of any near and present danger, and indentified body language and minute tics in a person's behavior. It was her sight, her powers of observation, that made her so valuable in the field, whether it be at a crime scene or during an undercover operation. And her sight had been cruelly ripped from her during what was supposed to have been a routine sting, leaving her blind and vulnerable.

But she had pushed through, adapted her way of life to become as confident as she was before. Her other senses were amplified, especially her sense of touch and her hearing, making her nearly as sharp as she had been before her injury. But each day, each new environment, was a constant challenge, as she was always counting steps, always trying to catalogue the different sounds and scents associated with certain places or people. She never complained, never fell victim to self-pity. There was plenty of frustration, yes, when she had her off days, but she met each challenge head-on, just as she had every other aspect of her life.

Gibbs closed his eyes, allowing himself to simply feel the warmth her touch was generating within him. Almost instantly he was struck with the sensation that he was going to trip over his own feet, which only drove his previous thoughts home. It gave him a taste of how she had felt when he had pulled her onto the dance floor, though looking at her now, he would never have recognized her as the same woman who had balked at the thought of trying to dance. He opened his eyes once more, and a glance down at the peaceful features of his date immediately told him that she had yet to open her own eyes. She had been telling him the truth—she trusted him, was still trusting him, without reservation. She had entrusted herself to his care, and the realization sparked a flare of pride within his chest. He wasn't exactly sure what made him so worthy, but it was an honor he was not going to muck up.

Not now, not never.

****

The two agents were unaware of the audience they had garnered back at the table. Abby and McGee had returned from their own romp on the dance floor, and Tony had brought Hannah back to the table so that she could have a chance to rest her feet from the viciously high heels she had chosen to wear for the evening.

"They are so beautiful," Abby said, her voice soft, but undeniably happy. "I don't think either of them realize how good a match they are for each other."

"I think you'd be surprised, my dear Abigail," Ducky replied. "I think they understand that they have been incredibly lucky to have found each other."

"I wonder why it took so long for them to get together," McGee piped up. "I mean, they seemed to click the first moment they met." His observation was met with skeptical glances from the rest of the team, and even Fornell. The younger agent quickly began to explain himself. "Well, besides the fact that Gibbs was gunning for Ari. But I don't think I 'm the only one who noticed that he seemed pleasantly surprised when she didn't simply roll over and beg for mercy when he snapped at her. I think he found it refreshing."

"You're right," Tony agreed. "At the time I thought it was directed more towards the Director, which later made sense when we found out they had worked together, but thinking about it now, it does seem like it was a result of Ziva going head to head with him."

"The FBI goes head to head with him all the time," Fornell brought up. "He doesn't seem to appreciate me not rolling over for him." This time, the FBI agent was on the receiving end of skeptical stares. "What?" the agent asked.

"The FBI doesn't go head to head with Gibbs," Abby informed the older man with an amused grin.

"Yeah, more like Gibbs plays you like a fiddle until he gets what he wants and then spins it to make it sound like you're getting something out of it too," Tony said, a laugh threatening to spill over what little self-restraint he had.

"He doesn't—" Fornell's protestations were cut off by a round of knowing nods. Even Ducky joined in—he had often admired Jethro's ability to twist a situation to his benefit. It was a trait that had come in handy on more than one occasion. The FBI agent sighed in defeat. "Yeah, he does."

"Don't feel bad Fornell," Tony said, leaning back in his chair. "He's even done it to us once or twice."

"Not me!" Abby said perkily.

"That's because you are the well-known favorite, Abs."

"Yep!" Suddenly Abby's attention returned to the dancing couple, surprise spreading across her features. "Oh my goodness, guys!" she breathed excitedly. "Look at Ziva!"

The team turned and looked, and found that Ziva's jerky, uncertain steps had morphed into a smooth elegance that put the rest of the dancers to shame. As they watched, Ziva seemed to melt into Gibbs' touch, and they moved as if they were simply extensions of one another. The dance was simple, but the effortlessness with which they moved struck them all speechless. To anyone who did not know the circumstances behind this seemingly normal couple, their movements would not seem anything spectacular, but to the team who knew them as well as anyone possibly could… the scene was breathtaking.

"For some reason, they really do seem right for each other," Hannah commented, breaking the awed silence.

"Does that mean you're gonna give up on her?" Tony asked, a smirk on his lips.

"Are you?" Hannah shot right back, eliciting a laugh from the rest of the table. Even Tony laughed good-naturedly.

"Eh," he uttered noncommittally. "I can't compete with the boss. She's too fun stop flirting with, but I know it won't get any farther than that." He sighed theatrically. "At least I'll always have Jean-Paul and Sophie."

"Yeah, just don't let Gibbs find out you fantasize about his girlfriend, okay Tony?" McGee ribbed gently. "It'd definitely send Gibbs on a rampage, and I happen to like my head where it is."

"Ummm, guys?" Abby's voice cut through the banter, recapturing the attention of the table.

"Yeah, Abs?"

"What is Gibbs _doing_?"

****

Gibbs heard the music start to slow as it slid into its ending bars, but was instantly struck with the realization that the last thing in the world he wanted to do was to let her go. The woman he held in his arms was smiling and content, confident herself and her abilities, almost as surely as if she had her sight back. In a flash he recalled the paralyzing fear he had felt when he had rushed into that condemned building to see her crumpled body, limp and lifeless on the cold cement. And then the wash of relief when he felt the pulse jumping beneath his fingertips, realizing that he had not lost her too. He remembered the other close calls they had both had—his run-in with Pin Pin Pula, losing his memories, being poisoned by Sharif, getting trapped in the car with Maddie as the vehicle sank into the water, and most recently the battle between himself and Lee's blackmailer.

Ziva had had her own share of close encounters with death. The closest by far had been her scuffle with Andy Hoffman, the serial killer who had preyed on cheating Marine wives. Gibbs' keen eyes could barely discern the thin scar on her left temple that acted as the only physical reminder of how close he had come to losing her. Her right eyebrow sported a similar scar; only this one had resulted from an explosion in Morocco, of which he had only learned about through spur of the moment search through ZNN footage as he searched for a seemingly unrelated person of interest. And then there had been the months when he had fully believed her to be dead, a victim of a tropical storm that had supposedly sunk the Jordanian freighter she had been on. The following weeks had been dark, darker even than the months after Shannon and Kelly. The hurt had been all the greater because unlike with his first wife and daughter, Gibbs had had a chance to prevent Ziva's death. He could have fought for her to return to America with the team; he could have called out the fact that her father was a Class A bastard with the history of manipulation and bullshit to prove it. But he had instead let her make her decision, protecting the team from the strife that was certain to follow the questionable death of Michael Rivkin—and in doing so had signed her death warrant as certainly as her father had done.

But once again fate had smiled on them, and he had felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders as a weak and battered Ziva had limped around the corner in that desert prison. And right then and there hehad sworn to which ever god had been listening that he would never again let harm come to her.

But life had had a different plan, and barely more than a year later he had sent her into that abandoned building. He had been unable to protect her effectively enough to keep her from losing her vision. Just another incident in a long line of close calls that had proven once again that tragedy could strike either one of them at any moment. And Gibbs couldn't help but acknowledge the possibility that next time, they may not be so lucky. On any given day, one of them may not come home.

All of a sudden, the small trinket tucked into the pocket of his trousers got twenty times heavier. He had forgotten that he had even brought it with him—he had first purchased it when Ziva was still acclimating to her disability, and her nimble fingers had catalogued the items in each and every drawer and cabinet in both the house and her apartment; he had kept it with him to ensure that her curious hands did not come across it. And then it had become second nature to have it on his person at all times. Most of the time he didn't think about it, but whenever there as a particularly difficult case, or her absence in the squad room was unusually evident, he would run his fingers over its familiar shape, and take comfort from it.

He had thought about giving it to her on multiple occasions, but he had never found the right moment. It wasn't the memory of Shannon that caused him to hesitate, nor did he fear that he would inevitably drive her away as he had his ex-wives. No, he just hadn't found the perfect moment. But he could feel it burning against his leg as he danced, and inexplicably knew that he had to give it to her now. He had no idea if it was the "right" time or place, but he knew with unwavering certainty that he could no longer wait. His decision was only reinforced when he heard Ziva's voice drift softly to his ears as she rested her head against his chest.

"Thank you," she sighed contentedly, her tone conveying her unspoken gratitude for helping her regain the gift she had thought was lost. Gibbs wanted to tell her that she shouldn't be thanking him; it had been her strength that had given her wings. He had simply given her a little push. But instead he slowed them to a stop, one hand slipping into his pocket to grasp the familiar object he had been carrying for months.

The music faded as the musicians ended their set, and the rest of the couple began to vacate the floor. But rather than following their lead, Gibbs took Ziva's hand in his as he gently got down on one knee.

He watched as Ziva's brow furrowed as she felt his movement, but couldn't quite interpret their meaning. Out of the corner of his eye he saw some bystanders catch sight of him in the clichéd posture and nudged their closest neighbors to call their attention to the momentous occasion unfolding right under their noses. But then his focus was once more on Ziva as a tiny smirk appeared on her lips.

"Did you drop something?"

Gibbs coughed out a laugh, quickly assuring he didn't.

"No, Ziva. I didn't drop anything." Before he had a chance to elaborate, her eyes grew worried.

"Then what are you doing on the floor?" She tugged slightly on his hand. "Jethro, I can feel people staring. Why are they looking at us?"

"Ziver—" Gibbs interrupted.

"What?"

Instead of answering, he drew her hand closer to him, guided her fingers towards his other hand, which now offered the object that had moments ago been burning a hole in his pocket. Her slender fingers fluttered over his hand, and then froze when they came into contact with the smooth metal of the ring he gripped in his fingers.

Gibbs watched her take a quick, short breath of surprise as her body stiffened, and then it seemed as if she had forgotten how to breathe, as all movement on her part ceased. Then, ever so gingerly, her fingers followed the delicate curves of the ring.

The focus of the ring was the prominent princess-cut stone rotated into a star setting, which sat on two tiers of smaller diamonds. The lower level was a single band of similarly oriented stones, while the surface level consisted of four bands of round cut diamonds that also acted as the prongs that held the center diamond in place.

It was a little more extravagant than Ziva herself would have chosen, but the moment Gibbs had seen it he had known it was perfect for her. He hadn't been able to put his finger on it at the time, but as the weeks passed he'd come to realize that the ring reflected her in many ways. It was beautiful, elegant, but that wasn't what had caught his eye. The ring had a single large diamond that initially caught one's attention, much like Ziva's confident, cool exterior. But beneath that diamond, there were smaller stones, past moments of Ziva's life that acted as a foundation for the strong woman she was today. And then there were the four bands that kept the diamond fixed in place, grounded against the wayward forces that acted to push her off-kilter. These bands were the people in her life that reminded her that she was right where she should be. He liked to think himself one of them, or maybe all of them, but that wasn't what mattered to him.

Her fingers stilled again after a moment, and then she was motionless once more, frozen in what Gibbs could only describe as shock. Her eyes were wide, her brows raised slightly as she waited for something—anything—from him to break her out of her daze.

"Jethro," she breathed, her voice barely audible, even in the growing silence as the event's attendees hushed to witness the exchange.

"Ziver," he responded, his voice unwavering despite the fluttering of his gut, "six years ago you came to NCIS to try to find a place where you felt you could trust the people you worked with. I was lucky enough to have earned that trust."

He didn't have to look at her to know that his words had taken her by surprise—he had never before told her how he had felt when he realized that she had trusted him enough to leave her entire life behind. It had come light years later that her father had intended her to be a plant all along, but Gibbs knew in his heart that Ziva's relocation and assimilation into the team had been genuine and heartfelt.

"And every day since, you have shown that you are strong and independent and beautiful. You're sharp, and quick, and more observant than anyone else I know. I wish I were half as good as you are, because then it wouldn't have taken me three years to realize what I was missing out on. And maybe I would've done _this_ a lot sooner.

"These past few years have been better than I ever hoped I would ever get the chance to experience again. But at the same time, they've been the most difficult, because I have almost lost you more times than I care to remember. I come close to losing you, and then by some miracle I have another chance to get it right."

Gibbs watched her unfocused eyes stare at him for a split moment before they began to flit nervously away. She grasped his free hand in a vice-like grip, and after several false starts, she managed to speak.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Her voice was soft, so soft that he was certain only he could hear her. Gibbs instinctively knew exactly what she was really asking him. She had always been reverent of the place that Shannon and Kelly held in his heart. He had married thrice after their deaths, and each one had ended in divorce because they could never quite measure up to the gaping hole in his life they had left behind. And now she was giving him an out, a chance for him to make sure that she wouldn't be treading on their memory like his other wives had.

"I have never been more sure of anything before in my life, Ziva."

The stark honesty in his voice surprised even him. His tone was even and calm, evoking a solid countenance that didn't even hint at the nervousness he felt. All of a sudden, he was glad that she had lost her sight, that she could not see his eyes wide with open candidness. But even then, he knew that he was making the right move. She had entrusted herself to him when he had asked her to mere moments ago, and now he was entrusting his heart to her, if she would have it.

But his own nerves were tossed aside as concern flooded his consciousness as he saw her bow her head. Her long curls hid her features from most of the onlookers, but still afforded him a clear view of her face. Her jaw had set stubbornly, her lips pressed firmly together, but what worried Gibbs the most was the furrow of her brow as she began to blink rapidly, her eyes squeezing shut as she fought to keep her emotions at bay.

"Ziva—" he started, but halted when she shook her head. A moment later she took a shaky breath, fighting to get air into her contracting lungs.

"This wasn't supposed to—" Her whisper cut off abruptly as her tears threatened to spill over. She took a short breath, then picked up again. "Not like this." Gibbs felt a jolt of pain wash through him, automatically jumping to the conclusion that she didn't want what he was offering. But then his rational side kicked in, and he realized that if that were the case, Ziva would have told him outright—she was never one to beat around the bush.

"Ziva…" Once again, she cut him off.

"I want to _see_ you, Jethro." Her voice was thick with emotion, and her tears finally escaped her sightless eyes, trailing slowly down her cheeks. "I want to see this."

Gibbs sighed helplessly in silent heartbreak for his lover. She had never once complained about her blindness, never once dwelled upon what_ should_ have been. And now, to hear her finally verbalize her wish for something that can no longer be, it was for the ability to witness this moment, this once-in-a-lifetime moment, first-hand with her own eyes. And he could do nothing to make it better for her.

Gibbs briefly searched for something, anything, to say that would give her some kind of comfort. But when he came up empty, he instead worked his hand out of the death-grip she had on it, and then guided it to his cheek. He drew her fingers over his brow, tracing the curve of his eye before returning to trail along the edge of his nose.

Ziva coughed out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh, and Gibbs knew she was remembering the Sunday morning they had shared nearly three months ago. Gibbs had woken up with Ziva curled into side, sleeping softly and peacefully, with not a trace of the stress or worry that had seemed to take up permanent residence in her features. She had woken slowly, and they had spent a long morning simply laying in bed, talking about everything and nothing. As they spoke Ziva had begun to trace the lines of his palm with sensitive fingers, following every crease and callus before moving up his arm and over his shoulder until she reached the strong angle of his jaw. It was there that she had paused, as though asking for permission to continue. He had fallen silent then, but hadn't voiced any protest, and she had then tentatively begun to peruse the contours of his forehead, his cheeks. She had memorized every scar, every anomaly, every line and curve and angle and bump.

She had told him that morning that it was the closest she could come to actually being able to see him again.

And now she let her fingers glide over his features once more, though not as intimately as she had that first time. She let the back of her fingers brush against his cheek tenderly before bringing them back to rest against the corner of his mouth. It was then that Gibbs spoke once more.

"Ziva David, will you marry me?"

Time seemed to stand still as the entire hall watched with bated breath, but Gibbs only had eyes for the woman who currently held his future in her hands. He froze, barely daring to breathe as he awaited her answer. Finally, ever so slowly, he saw the tiniest of smiles appear at the corner of her mouth, then grew until she was beaming with certain delight, even through the tears that still trickled from her eyes.

"Yes," she said, her voice thick. "Yes, Jethro, I will." If her smile could grow any bigger, it did as she simultaneously felt his mouth curve into a grin of his own while he slipped the ring onto her left hand. Then, before she had a chance to say anything else, Gibbs surged to his feet, engulfing Ziva in a tight embrace that threatened to take her off her feet. But she managed to remain on tip toe as she returned the hug just as fiercely. Her arms cinched tight around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder. He could feel her laugh happily against him, and he giddily felt the urge to do the same, but the sound of applause reached his ears, reminding him that they were not alone. He managed to keep his bearing, but couldn't wipe the smile from his lips.

When they parted a long moment later, Gibbs gently brushed Ziva's long curls from her face, taking in her tear-streaked cheeks and sparkling eyes. They were wide and unfocused, but Gibbs would have had to be the blind one to miss the joy they held, shining back at him. Unable to resist, he allowed himself to succumb to his impulses once more as he leaned down and captured her lips with his. The contact was soft and intimate, but Gibbs' awareness of their audience kept him from deepening the kiss.

They pulled apart after a moment, and immediately pulled her close once more. This time the embrace was tender and reverent as Gibbs buried his nose in her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple as he went.

"Thank you," he whispered softly in her ear, his voice gentle and brimming with emotion. Her only response was to give him a firm squeeze as she slipped her arms under his to wrap around his chest. Gibbs closed his eyes and cherished the contact, until the sound of Abby's excited squeals greeted his ears.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!" The Goth tottered over to them, her hands waving emphatically. Gibbs pulled away as Ziva turned to face their friends, but refused to relinquish his grip on her right hand. "Gibbs! Ziva! Oh, this is so exciting!" Abby wrapped her arms around Ziva, who was stiff for a moment before relaxing as she recognized Abby's touch. "Congratulations!" she cooed into the Israeli's ear. Then she pulled away excitedly. "Lemme see the ring!"

Ziva held her hand out obligingly, and pale fingers gripped it tightly as the forensic scientist peered intensely at the arrangement of yellow gold and brilliant diamonds perched on her finger. Gibbs let the two women converse as he turned to greet Ducky as the medical examiner approached.

"Congratulations, Jethro," the Scotsman exclaimed happily. Gibbs shook his offered hand, gripping it firmly.

"Thanks, Duck," he responded warmly, as Fornell paced slowly up to him.

"Jesus, Jethro," the FBI agent growled. "You still know how to liven up a party." He regarded Gibbs with a sharp eye. "And look at you grinning like a damn fool." Gibbs shifted slightly on his feet, unable to respond with anything more than an eye-roll. He couldn't deny it, but he wasn't going to be able to let go of his smile any time soon.

"You know, Tobias, I happen to remember you having a similar dumbass grin when you managed to get Diane to say yes," Gibbs replied glibly.

"Yeah, right up until I realized your warnings about her mood swings were right on the money," Fornell conceded, breaking into a smile of his own. He extended his hand. "Congratulations." As Gibbs grasped his hand, Fornell leaned in close. "Hey, think I can have a shot at this wife too?"

"I heard that, Agent Fornell," Ziva called over her shoulder. "And I assure you, you would not be able to handle me." Gibbs guffawed as he saw Fornell's stunned expression.

"Damn, she really does have ears like a bat," the agent muttered under his breath.

"I heard that too," came the reply, Ziva's lilting voice not losing its mirth. Gibbs squeezed her hand before shifting his grip to her waist possessively.

"You heard the lady, Tobias," he said. He looked tenderly at Ziva. "And there won't be a divorce, I can tell you that right now." He hugged her hips with a smooth confidence that conveyed his certainty in the matter.

"Oh my gosh, you guys, I am so happy for you!" Abby said, unable to contain her glee. She gave Gibbs a tight hug. "I can't believe you didn't tell me you were planning this! This is huge! So romantic! Oh my goodness!"

"Abby," Ziva said, her voice smooth and gentle, "calm down. You are going to hyperventilate."

"But this is so exciting! My two best friends are going to get married—"

"And you would not want to ruin this evening by forcing us to call an ambulance when you pass out, no?"

"Of course not!"

"Then, please, Abby, deep breath." Finally, Abby acquiesced, taking in a slow breath that immediately calmed her down. Slightly.

"Ziva," the Goth continued, "your ring is so gorgeous. It even matches your dress!" She paused. "Maybe I'm psychic! I mean, I already knew I am amazing at helping you get ready for these stupid events, but knowing what color would match your engagement ring I didn't even know about? That's way beyond the normal scope of my abilities!" She suddenly reached out and clutched Ziva's arm. "I _have_ to choose your wedding dress now!"

Her words caught Gibbs like a kick to the gut. He hadn't even thought about planning for the wedding. He knew from experience that future brides were notorious for poring over bridal magazines, searching for the perfect dresses, the perfect flower arrangements, the perfect place settings and color schemes. They relied on their sight to find the elements of their dream weddings; Ziva would not be able to do that. He pulled Ziva closer, reassuring her of his presence.

"We'll have time to talk about all that later, Abby," Ziva said, her voice strong. Before the Goth could respond, an earsplitting screech carried over the speakers. The team's attention shifted to the sound stage, where the big brass from each of the agencies were filing into sight. Gibbs' gut churned in apprehension—the sight of all those overstuffed suits in such close proximity threatened to give him a nosebleed. It only epitomized the ridiculousness of this whole evening, trying to create new relations between agencies that were naturally inclined to rub each other the wrong way; any agent or operative at the field level could have told them it would be a waste of a night.

Though, Gibbs thought as he pulled Ziva closer as they looked to the stage, he did get something out of it after all.

"If I could have your attention please," a young woman murmured into a mic, sending his voice reverberating throughout the banquet hall. The chatter among the attendees died off as they shifted their focus to the brunette clutching the microphone. Some guests moved to sit at their tables, but a fairly large group still crowded the dance floor.

"If I could have your attention, please," the woman repeated. When she had relative silence, she continued. "Thank you," she said. "I hope all of you are having an pleasant evening…"

"Pleasant as getting a root canal," Fornell muttered.

"And now comes the highlight of this evening—"

"It would have to be pretty amazing to top _our_ highlight," Ziva whispered softly. Gibbs chuckled in response.

"Please give a round of applause for the Director of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service—"

"For those of us who still have yet to hear of NCIS," Fornell poked fun with a grumble.

"Leon Vance!" The brunette on stage led the applause as she handed the microphone to Vance, and the crowd picked up the motion with polite respect. The Director waved the applause away, recognizing the less than genuine effort for what it was.

"As you all know," the Director said, launching right into his speech, "this little get-together was intended to boost inter-agency cooperation. Now, most us, the FBI, CIA, NSA, NCIS… we all have a history of butting heads, especially when it comes to turf and credit." This earned a few chuckles from the audience. "But this evening is also to honor those who have already succeeded in looking past agency party lines. And one of these people is here among us tonight."

Gibbs looked around to see several other guests begin to murmur amongst themselves. It seemed he was not the only one who hadn't realized this was an awards ceremony.

"Earlier this year, NCIS and the FBI collaborated to bring down a drug ring that had not only worked its way into the Navy, but spanned several states on the east coast. Through the careful planning of our best agents, we organized a sting operation that would have incapacitated this ring at its core. Unfortunately, not all of our agents came out of it unscathed."

Gibbs felt Ziva stiffen beside him, and he knew without a doubt who Vance was referring to. He hugged her reassuringly, as he returned his attention to the stage, feeling a scowl grow in his brow. Vance was treading a thin line; the director had better have a good reason for trying to parade Ziva around as his very own mascot.

"But through this one agent's bravery and quick-thinking, the lives of fifteen FBI and NCIS agents were saved, and the cartel was taken down. It wasn't until months later that it was discovered that the cartel was also part of the largest up and coming drug smuggling operations in the world. The CIA and NSA had been working to bring the ring down for years, but it was the actions of a single agent that ultimately did the job. This agent risked her life for her country and her fellow agents, and those of you who know this agent will agree that she is a cut above the rest. Tonight, we would like to honor this very special NCIS agent." Vance scanned the crowd.

"Special Agent Ziva David."

The banquet hall exploded into thunderous applause as Vance turned in Ziva's direction. Fornell and the rest of the team perhaps clapped the loudest of them all, but Gibbs remained silent, sensing Ziva's distress. She turned into him slightly, surprised by the sudden racket echoing throughout the banquet hall. He knew the noise was disorienting her, grating in her sensitive ears.

"Agent David, if you would join me…" Vance motioned for Gibbs to escort Ziva up onto the stage. A quick whisper in her ear asked her if she wanted to go, and though she did not say yes, she didn't say no either. When he gently moved towards the stage, she came with him without hesitation. He kept an arm around her waist until they reached the stairs that led up to the stage.

"Five six inch steps," he murmured in her ear as he allowed her to climb up the steps first. She gave his hand a squeeze of gratitude as she passed, tentatively seeking the first step. Gibbs kept a hand at the small of her back, ready to catch her if she stumbled, but she reached the stage without incident. At the top she waited for him to join her, not willing to risk running into something on the stage in front of hundreds of people. The audience was still clapping, their fervor yet to diminish.

Gibbs guided her to where Vance was waiting. He brought them to a stop when they were within arm's reach of the Director, and Ziva extended her hand, which Vance clasped in a firm handshake. Finally, the audience fell silent once more.

"Agent David, your sacrifice for your country has not gone unnoticed, and will not be forgotten. We thank you for your service in defense of the United States, and the countless lives you have saved." Ziva nodded in response, seemingly unable to voice any words.

"And I know that there's nothing I can say that could make your evening any better," the Director continued, thumbing her new engagement ring gently as he gave Gibbs a knowing glance, "but I received word early this morning that SecNav has backed my recommendation, and you have been selected to become the newest recipient of the Presidential Medal of Freedom."

A chorus of awed gasps flitted throughout the room, but Gibbs felt no shift in Ziva's posture—she had no idea what the Presidential Medal meant. He leaned in close, running a warm hand over her bare arm.

"It's the highest civilian award in the United States, Ziver," he whispered softly in her ear. She stiffened in his arms. "It's given by the President."

He saw her eyes widen slightly, as her free hand subtly slipped to the fabric of his trousers, which she gripped tightly as the weight of the honor hit her. Gibbs doubted anyone else noticed the movement, as any other outward sign of shock was carefully hidden behind a mask calm professionalism.

"Thank you, Director," Ziva said. Her voice was soft, but was still picked up over the microphone, feeding it through the loudspeakers.

"No, Agent David, thank _you_," Vance returned. He tucked the microphone under his arm, and then began to clap, his hands echoing over the crowd. Then the thunder returned as the spectators picked up the applause, this time a few even adding their raucous cheers to the mix. Vance stepped back, and the other directors approached, offering Ziva their praise and gratitude for her work. Gibbs identified each man as he stepped forward, and she shook each hand that respectfully touched hers.

When they were finished, Vance returned, but no longer had the microphone in his hand. He grasped Ziva's hand once more, but this time leaned in close so that his words were heard only by her and Gibbs.

"Agent David, your position at NCIS is waiting for you whenever you feel you are ready to return."

Ziva froze.

"What?"

"Of course, your time in the field will be limited, but NCIS would be honored if you continued to offer your skills in service to agency." Ziva's brow furrowed.

"Director, please, enough with the political talk," she said, her voice sharp. Gibbs knew her nerves were starting to fray. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that the loss of your vision pre-empts you from working in the field, as you can no longer fire a weapon without putting others in danger," Vance explained, "but your investigative skills are damn fine and not related to your sight whatsoever. Accommodations will made so that you can function easily at the Navy Yard. Computers, printers, and other appliances will be modified so that you can use them. How're you with Braille?"

Ziva blinked.

"Getting better," she revealed, her voice blunt with surprise.

"And how'd you get the bigwigs to agree to that?" Gibbs asked, somewhat skeptical of the whole plan. The idea of working with Ziva again thrilled him, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate a false gift.

"Oh, someone may have thrown around some potent phrasing," the Director said. "Equal opportunity, discrimination in the hiring process, disability acts that the bureaucracy claims to follow—in the end I just needed to list her personal qualifications, and the higher-ups were willing to bend over backwards to keep her. Apparently having a decade of experience in international intelligence and espionage makes you indispensible." Vance gave the barest of grins, which Gibbs returned with a nod of gratitude.

"Congratulations, you two," the Director added on a personal note. "I don't think I have to remind you to keep it out of the workplace…"

"You haven't in the four years we've been together, Leon," Gibbs said, reminding his superior that they had managed to hide their relationship for years with none being the wiser. "You won't have to worry about that."

"Good," Vance said. His attention shifted back to Ziva. He took her hand in a gentle grip. He drew her hand to his lips, bestowing a friendly kiss to her knuckles. "You treat the old guy right, now, you hear, Ziva?" The woman in question grinned. "He's not as young as he used to be."

"You would know, Leon," Gibbs retorted.

"You need not worry, Director," Ziva said. "He is not as old as he looks."

"Hey!" Gibbs said sharply. "Whose side are you on?"

"Mine," she replied simply. Vance chuckled as the couple started to drift away, Gibbs leading his new fiancée to the steps that led back down into the crowd.

"Yeah," the Director said to himself, "this is going to be interesting." He watched the couple a moment more before turning the mic back on.

"Special Agent David, everybody," he said into the mic, indicating the departing couple. "Please enjoy the rest of the evening."

*****

Gibbs and Ziva returned to where the team was waiting, their faces aglow with pride for their friend. Abby immediately launched herself into Ziva's arms, who managed to catch the Goth but staggered dangerously under the taller woman's weight. Only Gibbs' support kept both women upright.

"Congratulations!" the scientist squealed. Abby pulled away, and framed Ziva's friends with her pale hands. "How are you feeling?" she demanded. "All this noise must be giving you a headache. I mean, it's really really loud in here, and everyone is clapping really hard. This is loud even for me, and that's really saying something, because you know the kind of music I listen to—"

"Whoa, let her breathe, Abs," Tony said, coming to his partner's rescue. The senior field agent perked up when he heard the band start up again. The dance floor was beginning to clear as the crowd dispersed after being dismissed by Vance.

With a confident grin, he held out his hand towards Ziva in a silent invitation to dance. Gibbs shifted behind her, and suddenly Dinozzo's expression turned sheepish.

"Ah, uhm, Boss," he sputtered. "I was just going to ask her to dance. You know, nothing serious, just between partners. That is, if she doesn't, I mean, if you don't… mind."

Ziva bit back a grin as she playfully swatted at Gibbs, whom she knew was pegging the Italian with a fierce glare.

"I do not mind, Tony," Ziva said, extending her hand for her partner to take. Tony took it, but didn't move until Gibbs gave a silent nod. The senior field agent led her towards the other dancers drifting around the dance floor. As he passed Gibbs, the Marine caught his arm in a fierce grip, giving the younger man a stern look.

"I won't let her fall, boss," Tony said, correctly reading the older man's stare.

"Or trip, or bump into anything…"

"Jethro, enough," Ziva scolded. "You know he's not as callous as he pretends to be."

"Yeah, boss."

"_And_ he knows I can kick his ass with or without my eyesight, should he decide to try pulling one over o me."

"Aw, come on, Zee-vah…"

"I dare you, Dinozzo," she responded sharply. She jabbed a finger into his chest. "Do not test me."

A moment later she had pulled him back into motion, and they were soon lost in the crowd of swaying couples. Gibbs let them go, then turned and offered his arm to Abby, who then accompanied back towards their table. Ducky and Fornell went with them, but McGee remained on the edge of the dance floor. Gibbs guessed his intentions and gave the young agent a nod of approval as he passed.

Meanwhile, on the dance floor, Tony and Ziva were swaying slowly to the beat. Both were grinning broadly as Tony imparted his latest scheme to booby-trap McGee's computer.

"I've got an even better one cooking," Tony revealed, "but it'll be hard to pull off. It's more of a two-man op."

"Well, then" Ziva said. "Maybe you could finish cooking your plan by Monday."

"Well, I dunno, maybe—" Tony froze. "Wait, what?"

"If you want my help on Monday, your plan will have to be fine-turned, yes?"

"Fine-tuned," he corrected out of habit, "but why Monday?"

"I will be in the office that day," Ziva replied casually. "Though if it is too big a plan for you to work out by Monday, we could always wait until Tuesday… or Wednesday… or any day after that."

"Wait, you mean…?"

"Vance offered me my job back," she revealed with a grin. "Without the field work, but I will be able to chase down leads…"

"But you hate deskwork," Tony pointed out with a laugh.

"It will take some getting used to, but I look forward to being able to contribute something to the team again." She paused. "And I know we will no longer officially be partners—"

"Hey." Tony's voice was suddenly hard. Her head turned slightly in surprise. He thumbed her chin affectionately. "You're my partner," he said firmly. "Even the past six months, you've been my partner. And I'm yours. Always."

Anything else was left unsaid as they were halted by a hand tapping on Tony's shoulder. The newcomer put a finger to his lips, urging Dinozzo to remain quiet. The senior field agent hesitated, debating the boons of speaking up anyway, but the serious expression on the intruder's face made him think better of it. Instead he pressed a kiss to Ziva's cheek, whispering that he would see her back at the table.

Tony left the dance floor, but paused as he passed Gibbs, who had returned to the fringe of spectators watching the swaying bodies. The Marine looked at him expectantly as the younger man hesitated before finally speaking.

"You better not hurt her, boss," Tony said, all trace of his usual juvenile intonation gone. It was replaced with a hardness that was born out of having seen and caused too much pain in his partner, and the knowledge that he had waited too long to try to win her heart for himself. Now he had to let her find happiness in the man who _had_ made his move, but he would not force her to go it alone. He was her partner, and he would have her back, even in this.

Gibbs saw all this in the younger man's eyes, and was proud to see the devotion evident within them. He regarded Tony for a long moment, then nodded firmly. Tony received it, then moved on, ready to rejoin his own date for the evening. Gibbs turned and watched Ziva move slowly in the arms of her new partner.

****

Ziva smiled as Tony kissed her cheek, then felt his place be filled by another warm body. The material of the newcomer's tuxedo was fine, smooth, his build softer than that of Tony. But she immediately knew the identity of her new dance partner.

"Hello, McGee," she greeted as he took her gently in his arms. She felt him chuckle softly.

"That really is amazing," Tim remarked. "How'd you know it was me this time?" She smiled.

"I like your new cologne," she said in way of explanation. "A gift from one Thom E. Gemcity?" she asked, referring to the fine quality of the fragrance. "That is not Clive Christian, is it?"

"Good nose," McGee observed, not denying the truth of her words.

"McGee!" she exclaimed. "I was right! That is something only Mr. Gemcity could afford." She smiled. "It is perfect for you though. It is very sophisticated."

"And how exactly are you familiar with men's cologne?"

"I lived in Paris for quite some time," she confessed. "You learn a great deal about men's cologne when you live there for an extended period of time."

"I believe you," McGee said. A moment of silence drifted between them, until the young agent finally spoke up once more. "So the Presidential Medal of Freedom, huh? That's a pretty big honor."

"That is what I hear." Ziva's mouth curled into a suspicious smirk. "Did you know about it? Before tonight?"

"Nope. Didn't even know the Director had recommended it. But to be honest, I'm not really all that surprised. I was hoping they would find a way to call attention to what happened."

"McGee…"

"No, I mean it," McGee said. "You probably don't remember what happened that day, but I do. I was there. I saw what happened. You saved my life and the lives of all the other agents in the building. And you almost died because of it. You're _still_ paying for your decision to save us that day—and you will continue to pay each day for the rest of your life."

"Tim…"

"I know you don't see it that way, but I do. Everything that's happened tonight… you and Gibbs, your medal… you deserve every minute of it, Ziva. You do." He paused. "I am really happy for you," he said finally.

A small hand came up and found his smooth cheek, giving it a soft caress.

"Thank you, McGee." Her words were heartfelt, and as honest as his own had been.

"If you ever need anything, Ziva…"

"I know exactly to whom I can go for help," she finished for him. She bowed her head. "I am very lucky, you know. I have gone to having no one to turn to, to having a whole family to help me. Believe it or not, I think even Fornell would help if asked."

"Are you kidding me? You've got the old coot eating out of your—" McGee froze suddenly, sensing the familiar sudden presence. Ziva grinned.

"Gibbs is right behind you, isn't he?" she asked. She felt McGee turn to look over his shoulder.

"Old coot?" Gibbs asked drily, his brow lifting menacingly.

"Not you, boss," Tim scrambled, "Fornell… Ziva and I were just talking about Agent Forn— you already knew that." Gibbs broke into smirk.

"Think I can get a dance in with my fiancée?" he asked. McGee immediately relinquished his hold on the slender woman.

"Of course, boss." He gulped audibly. "Ziva, I'll be over by the table if you need any—" He paused as Gibbs pegged him with another stare. "I'll be over by the table," he amended hastily.

"Thank you, McGee," Ziva responded, clearly amused. As McGee left he heard her talk to Gibbs. "And you know, Jethro, you better be careful about calling me your fiancée. I might just start calling you _my_ fiancé."

"You can call me anything you want," Tim heard Gibbs reply, amusement lacing the Marine's gruff tones.

The younger agent shook his head, feeling foolish. Quickly, the wheels in his head started turning, furiously exploring ways he could arrange for Officer Lisa and Agent Tibbs to end up together—without breaking Agent Tommy's heart in the process. The last thing he wanted to do was screw with Team Tibbs' dynamic, but you can't deny true love, right?

Back at the table, Ducky, Abby and Fornell were watching the duo interact. Abby was gushing, while the elder men could do nothing but listen quietly.

"Look at them, Ducky," she said. "They are so perfect together! They are so happy, and so beautiful! Both of them! Even Gibbs!" Suddenly, Abby fell silent. Ducky looked at her in concern.

"What's the matter my dear?"

"Ducky, they're really similar aren't they?" the Goth asked quietly.

"Well yes, Abigail, I do believe they are." The medical examiner paused. "They are both strong individuals, with ironclad principles and shady pasts…"

"And headstrong and ornery and violent and difficult… Ducky, what if they drive each other away? What if Ziva turns into his fifth ex-wife?" Ducky covered one of her hands with his.

"You forget they have been together for years, my dear Abigail. They were together before we even were aware they were dating. And quite frankly, it is my belief that if they haven't driven each other insane by now, they are in fact perfect for each other."

Together they turned and watched the smiling couple once more.

"Yes, Abigail, they are quite perfect for each other."


	3. Smell

_A/N: So this has subtle Zibbs inclinations, but nothing obvious. It's mostly an Abby/Ziva friendship piece, which I haven't done in a while. And I know people want to read more Apoc stuff, but I figure if I can't post on that one quite yet, I could try updating another slow-coming piece._

_Let me know what you think! I hope you like it!_

_P.S. This one is for luckyducky09. You know why ;)_

* * *

It was a Monday, when they first noticed something was wrong.

Ziva was working in Abby's lab, helping process some evidence. Abby claimed it was part of the Probie process, to run the fingerprints from the crime scene through the scanner and then through the databases. And the hundreds of prints that Ziva had herself lifted that afternoon definitely leaned towards the hazing end of the spectrum, though if Abby were honest, she mostly just wanted to spend more time with her favorite female agent.

So while Abby was doing her magic on the drug evidence they'd brought to her a couple hours before, she kept up a steady stream of chatter. Ziva worked diligently, listening on gamely, and even going so far as to contribute a word or two when needed.

"Okay, Ziva, your turn!" Abby's bright voice sounded loudly over the thumping bass of her music, her boots squeaking on the tile floor of her lab as she spun to face her friend. Green eyes focused on her with mock-serious intensity. "Jack O'Neill or MacGyver?"

Ziva paused in her work, her brow furrowing as she considered the options. A moment later, she turned to Abby, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Are those characters not played by the same actor?" A smirking grin was all the answer she needed.

"Abby…" came the expected groan.

"It's a legitimate question, and you have to answer!" the Goth declared. "Who would you rather?"

Dark eyes rolled in exasperation, but Abby knew she had triumphed. "Well..." Ziva said, thinking out loud. "MacGyver does have formidable skill in devising unusual weapons, and his mastery of explosives is quite… impressive. But then again, I find the military lifestyle of Jack O'Neill familiar and respectable. And he has a certain quality about him that I think…"

She hesitated, considering her options. Finally, she looked back at Abby.

"I would rather Jack O'Neill."

Abby grinned, as if smug. "I suppose that has nothing to do with the similarities he shares with a certain former military man we both know and love, does it?"

"What?"

"Never mind," Abby said quickly. She turned back to her own work, which was a rather unsightly pile of clothes their victim had left lying on the floor of his apartment. Abby doubted anything in the lot would provide anything useful, but she knew Gibbs and his gut. There would be no use protesting his orders.

But before she could even pull the first items of clothing from their bags, her stomach let loose with a mighty rumble.

"Dear god, Abby," Ziva said incredulously. "Was that you?"

"Yep," she replied with a chuckle. "I think I'm hungry."

"You think?"

"Uh huh!" With a flounce, she spun from her lab table. "I'm off to get some food. You want anything?"

Ziva shook her head. "No, thank you. I am not hungry."

"You know, I haven't seen you eat in a while. Are you sure I can't get you anything?"

"Abby, please, I am fine. I simply haven't been quite as hungry lately. I think I have been fighting a bit of a cold…"

"Chicken noodle soup it is!" Abby said happily. She ignored Ziva's pointed glare. "Back in a few!"

The line at the soup counter was longer than Abby expected, which she expected was due to the recent chill of the coming winter, but she was glad to see that by the time she had the elusive chicken noodle soup in hand, less than ten minutes had passed. Getting her sandwich had taken even less time, and she was back at her lab less than three minutes after that.

But the second she walked in the familiar metal door, Abby knew something was wrong. In the space of moments, her mind snapped into hyperdrive. Facts sped through her brain, beginning with the obvious, choking odor of burnt almonds, and ending with the sight of Ziva collapsed on the floor, unmoving.

Instinct kicked in then, and Abby dropped the food in an instant to rush to Ziva's side. She latched onto the smaller woman's wrist and started dragging her. Vaguely, she remembered how Timmy had given her the same desperate treatment, years ago.

But then Ziva was out of the lab and in the hallway, still unmoving. Quick inspection revealed an erratic pulse and barely-there breath sounds.

On pure desperation alone, she dashed back into the poisonous cloud of toxin, and snatched the emergency kit from the wall. The second she was back in the hall, she slammed her palm against the emergency alarm. The siren started blaring, and the red lights flashed as the metal door slammed shut automatically, but Abby barely noticed.

She was too busy breaking open a packet of amyl nitrite, and holding it under Ziva's nose, hoping that her friend was still breathing enough to inhale the dose that could save her life.

"Ziva!" Pale hands shook the agent urgently, but the only response was a lolling head and closed eyes. "Ziva, please, answer me!"

Fingers fumbling, Abby pulled out her cell phone, and dialed the first person she thought of. Gibbs answered right away.

"Abby, I'm on my way. Get to the decon showers and start the scrub down procedures. I'll be there in twenty seconds—"

"Gibbs, it's not me! It's Ziva, and she's barely breathing, Gibbs, you have to call the paramedics, and tell them to bring a full cyanide antidote kit—"

"Cyanide? Abs, what the hell happened?"

"I don't know yet, Gibbs! Just do it!" Without fully realizing it, Abby shut the phone with a snap and turned her attention back to Ziva. The lack of responsiveness in the agent worried Abby's gut—she knew what cyanide could do. Cyanide inhibited cellular respiration; inhaled, it could kill a critical number of brain cells in a matter of minutes.

Abby reached for the sodium nitrite, even though she knew it was little more than a Hail Mary.

"C'mon, Ziva, you gotta hang on…" she whispered. "Please, please hang on."

Abby swore the paramedics got there in record time, but really she couldn't tell how much time had passed. All she knew was that by the time Ziva was being loaded into the ambulance, she had yet to regain consciousness, and was already on assisted breathing.

Gibbs' questions didn't start until they were in the waiting room of the emergency. He turned on Abby, with fire burning in his eyes.

"What the hell happened?"

"I don't know, Gibbs. I was only gone for ten minutes, tops. Everything was left in their evidence bags, except for the prints you were having Ziva run. I don't know what could have produced the cyanide, Gibbs, I swear. If I'd even suspected, I definitely wouldn't have left her there alone—but it doesn't make any sense…"

"Which part?" McGee asked.

Tony spoke next. "I'm pretty sure none of this makes any sense, McGenius…"

"DiNozzo…" Gibbs' threatening voice got them all back on track.

Abby looked to Gibbs. "It doesn't make sense Gibbs, because I found her in the lab."

"That is where you left her, right?"

"No, Gibbs, you don't get it. Ziva _knows_ what cyanide smells like—she told me, after my ex tried to poison me in my lab that one time. I could smell the almonds from the hallway, Gibbs. There's no way she couldn't have smelled it. And she knows the protocol when there's a gas leak. She should've been out of that lab long before she started feeling the effects."

Gibbs looked at her for a long moment. "You're sure?"

"Positive."

The doctor came to them almost an hour later.

"We have Agent David stabilized for now," he told them, his voice tinged with sympathy. "But I'm afraid she's fallen into a coma."

"A coma?" Abby's voice was quiet. She'd hoped she hadn't been too late. She'd been wrong.

The doctor looked at the Goth. "Am I correct in assuming that you are the one that administered emergency countermeasures on scene?"

Abby nodded.

"Then it's thanks to you that Agent David is alive at all. She had lethal amounts of cyanide in her system by the time she made it to the hospital, and if she hadn't received the antidotes you administered, in all likelihood she'd be dead by now."

Not surprisingly, the news didn't make Abby feel any better, but Gibbs' warm hand on her shoulder helped. A little.

"When is she going to wake up?" he asked bluntly. Abby decided that she liked his way of asking. Better to not acknowledge the possibility of—

"We aren't sure that she will," the doctor responded. "The cyanide did some damage, and we can't know how much was done—or how permanent it is—until she wakes up, which, if the damage is severe enough, may not happen."

Tony scoffed. "Great. Your regular Catch-22."

"Only this one is Ziva's life." McGee's tone was soft. Abby might have gone to him, if Gibbs hadn't already been acting as her support. She wasn't sure she would have been able to make it over to McGee by this point. Even now, her knees were shaking.

"We've got her on oxygen, though she hasn't needed a ventilator, which we're choosing to take as a good sign. For now, we want to limit visitors to one at a time, but if her condition holds, we'll reevaluate that in a few hours."

Gibbs nodded. "Fine."

Abby looked at him. "You go first, Gibbs."

To her surprise, he shook his head, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You go." Abby moved to protest, but Gibbs gave her a look. "She needs you, Abs. And you need to see her. Go."

After a moment, Abby nodded, then looked to the others. They too nodded their approval.

"Take as long as you need, Abby," McGee told her. "We're not going anywhere."

"'Kay," she whispered.

And then, with one last look at the others, she was following the doctor into the depths of the hospital, with steps as heavy as her heart.

* * *

Ziva's eyes opened 73 hours, 43 minutes, and 20 seconds after Abby had found her in the lab. By that point, the entire team had been allowed in to visit her at one time, since her condition had remained stable the entire time.

The moment her eyes blinked open, six people immediately moved closer to the bed, watching eagerly for any sign of response that would dissuade the threat of brain damage. For several long, tense moments, brown eyes blinked fuzzily, then focused on her visitors.

"What happened?" Her voice was thick and heavy, her words slurred. Even so, six grins shone broadly at the sound of it.

"Heeey, Zee-vah," Tony edged closer to the bed, taking her hand in his. "How you feeling?"

"Lousy," came the blunt response. "What happened?"

"Cyanide gas," Gibbs supplied, taking Ziva's free hand. Ziva blinked at him, struggling to focus on him.

She licked her dry lips before speaking once more. "Abby?"

"I'm here, Ziva, I'm okay," Abby answered for herself. The agent nodded in satisfaction, but a moment later, her eyes shut again, even as the doctor scurried into the room.

"Just missed her, doc," Gibbs said, not moving from his spot at the side of the bed.

Ducky stepped forward to take up the conversation. "Agent David was conscious and lucid, and her vitals have remained strong."

"And she was coherent?" the doctor inquired. He immediately began to take his patient's blood pressure when Ducky gave him the affirmative. "Good, that's good. Better than we could have expected. Obviously, there's still a lot we don't know about her condition, but if she was talking and could recognize you, then that bodes well for her recovery."

The doctor looped his stethoscope around his neck, and turned to speak to the group. "We'll wait until she wakes up again, and then take her to run some brain scans. There's obviously a serious risk of damage, but she's made it this far. If I wasn't a professional, I'd put money on her making a full recovery."

* * *

Over the next few days, Ziva's condition indeed improved. Consciousness returned in longer bouts, and her brain scans came back clean. Eventually, she was well enough that Gibbs felt comfortable ordering most of the team back to work, Abby included.

It was later revealed that the gas had come from a time-release capsule in one of the clothing evidence bags. When it had detonated, it had released enough heat to melt the plastic bag, thereby allowing the gas to permeate the lab. But to Abby, it still didn't feel right. There was the matter of why it was in the clothes of the vic in the first place, but more than that—why hadn't Ziva recognized the odor of the gas and gotten out before the cyanide could do any damage?

She watched as one of the seemingly endless stream of doctors re-entered the room, logging her vitals. Abby wondered briefly why he was doing it instead of a nurse, but she shoved it aside as she spoke up.

"What kind of scans have you done so far?" she asked softly. The doctor's eyes raised to hers, surprised by the question.

"None yet," he responded finally. "We would have gone ahead with a CT and MRI scan of her brain had she remained unconscious much longer, but her waking up preempted all that." The doctor turned to face her. "Do you think there's something we should be looking for?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I think so. I mean… she should have been able to smell the cyanide. I can't figure out why she didn't."

"And you think the answer might be in the scans."

Abby was surprised by the fact the doctor wasn't brushing her concerns off. In fact, he seemed to be taking her seriously. And the gleam in his eye told her he was intrigued by her interest and her apparent comprehension of brain activity.

If it had been anyone other than her best friend lying on the bed between them, she might have been intrigued right back.

"Yeah, I think so," she responded finally. "And if it isn't, then at least we'll have ruled them out."

* * *

The answer was in the scans after all.

There, in the frontal lobe of her brain, were three tiny little tumors.

The doctors said that she was lucky—they'd caught it early. Not only that, but without her near-death from cyanide poisoning, they might not have diagnosed it in time. It might've have progressed to the point that they couldn't have helped her.

As it was, the doctors believed the tumors were pre-malignant; if they moved quickly, they could be removed before they became malignant.

Gibbs stayed with Ziva as much as possible, Abby was glad to see. As the head of the forensics department, she had less wiggle room as far as time off went. Team Gibbs, on the other hand, was put on stand-by, as a special favor from Vance. They had all the time in the world to spend with their teammate, which came as a good thing.

Ziva was overwhelmed; Abby saw it every time she came to visit.

Barely two days after waking up she was told she needed to make a decision, and, Ziva being Ziva, she'd balked at the idea of going under the knife. It didn't help that she only half believed the doctors when they tried to tell her about the tumors.

She'd felt fine in the days before her run-in with the cyanide. The flu she'd thought she'd been fighting had merely been the anosmia—her loss of smell. Her loss of appetite, the sensation of feeling congested, all of it.

It wasn't until Ducky showed her the scans, pointed out the small shadows in the cloudy picture that was her brain, and explained to her exactly what would happen if she left them untreated that it finally seemed to sink in.

Abby was pretty sure she'd never seen Ziva get so quiet.

Not just quiet. Small. Daunted.

This was a threat she couldn't fight with guns or knives—not even one she could fight on her own. She would have to trust her health, her life, to a bunch of doctors she didn't know. And the surgery wasn't without its risks. There could be memory loss, her personality could be altered, or any number of other horrifying possibilities.

Abby knew her friend was on the verge of refusing the surgery just on principle. But, Gibbs was there. All the time. Reminding her that she wasn't alone in this. They wouldn't abandon her no matter what—even if she lost her memories, or if she got angry and irritable, or even if the surgery didn't work. They would go through it with her.

Through all of it.

In the end, that reassurance let her make the decision that could save her life. Less than a week after she was told about the tumors, she went into surgery. Abby was there, sitting for ten hours in between Tim and Tony on hard plastic chairs in the hospital waiting room. She watched as Gibbs paced, and Ducky regaled them with more stories than they'd ever know what to do with.

Abby half-listened, but for the most part she buzzed with nervous energy. Her leg didn't stop bouncing once in all of the ten hours they were in the waiting room. Tony tried to still her by putting his hand on her knee, but he gave up after three ineffective attempts. McGee simply held her hand, which was what she really needed. Simple reassurance—it had helped Ziva too.

The doctor came with periodic updates, to assure them that she hadn't died on the table. But that last time he came out, with that spark of triumph in his eyes, that was the one they remembered. Those three little words they'd waited all day to hear.

"_She made it_."

They were there with her when she woke up, and Ducky was the one to explain that the doctors believed they had removed all the precancerous tissue. But she only had the strength to smile before her really good drugs pulled her back under.

It was enough.

Gibbs hugged Abby then, when she finally let her tears spill down her cheeks. The boys didn't even bother trying to hide their own relief. Even Ducky was looking a little shaky in the knees, underneath his beaming pride for his unofficial patient. Ziva had beaten the odds. She was a survivor.

But a few days later, they hit their first sour note. Palmer came by with a plateful of fresh, still-warm chocolate-chip cookies. Abby could smell them the minute he stepped in the door. But Tony, bloodhound that he was, detected them when the autopsy tech was still halfway down the hall.

They were gushing over the tinfoil-covered plate for five minutes, even fought over it once it made it inside the room. It wasn't until Ziva asked "_what cookies?_" that they realized that they hadn't taken the tinfoil off them.

And that she couldn't smell the aromatic cookies from where she lay on the bed.

Their sudden silence prompted her to beckon the plate closer. She unwrapped the plate, then took a deep whiff, her nose nearly touching the sweet desserts.

"Nothing," she said simply. Abby heard the subtle detachment in her tone. She was trying to be matter-of-fact about it, but she was bothered. Maybe, even, a little scared. But Gibbs was right there, holding her hand while his other hand passed a cookie.

She didn't eat it, but her grateful smile was what they were really looking for.

The doctors sent her home a week later, though ordered her to return for more scans in a few weeks, to make sure the tumors didn't come back. Abby was the first to volunteer herself for chauffer duty, an offer that she was pleased to see earned her a glare.

It was the first time they'd seen the normal Ziva emerge from her shell in two weeks.

But once home, the woman was back to work as soon as she was allowed. She was on desk duty until the director could figure out whether or not she could be allowed in the field again.

Abby realized then what Ziva had been so apprehensive about.

She was an agent, before that a Mossad officer. Her whole life had been about trusting her instincts, which meant relying on her senses to keep her aware and on her toes. Now she was missing one of those five senses, and that left her at a significant disadvantage, if not at outright risk. Even in her own home, she was in danger because she no longer had her sense of smell.

What happened in the lab could happen in her apartment, only it could be smoke from a fire, or a gas leak she couldn't detect until it killed her.

It wasn't something Abby liked to think about, but when Ziva came down to visit her for the afternoon—_every_ afternoon—it was hard to ignore. As much as she liked being able to look after Ziva, she was glad the day Ziva came down with a broad grin on her face.

"I have been cleared for field duty," the team's newest agent declared proudly. "I'll have to have someone with me at all times, to act as my nose, but—"

"No buts, Ziva!" Abby countered. "That's awesome!" She wrapped her friend in a hug. "I'm so happy for you!"

Her friend gave her a beaming smile. "Thank you, Abby."

For a long moment, she took in the sight of her best friend. She was still regaining the weight she'd lost in the hospital, but she'd gotten her color back, and it made all the difference. She'd already passed the fitness tests, which had been passed with flying colors—the only thing that had really changed about her was the anosmia, and all things considered, it wasn't that huge a difference.

It was only then that Abby realized that the trepidation she'd felt, the fact that Ziva had been so withdrawn after the surgery… it wasn't because of her condition. Ziva had been just as worried about the consequences as the rest of them had been, but not in terms of coping.

She'd been worried about her job. Well, not just the job. It wasn't just a job for her. It wasn't for anyone of them, but especially not for her.

If Ziva didn't have NCIS, she didn't have anything. She'd have Tony and Timmy and Gibbs, and Abby herself. But the only other world Ziva knew was Mossad, a world she'd turned her back on. And no doubt Ziva had figured her citizenship status had been reliant on her status as an agent.

No doubt, a part of her had been worried about facing deportation, on top of everything else.

A moment later, Abby had wrapped her arms around Ziva, pulling her into a tight hug. Ziva seemed only slightly surprised, but returned the hug with just as much fervor.

"I'm glad you're okay," Abby whispered.

Ziva's hands pressed tighter against her back, pulling her closer.

But then she pulled back, and brown eyes looked intently at her. "Thank you, Abby," she said, her voice gentle, but firm.

"For what?" Abby asked. She ran a hand over her eyes, brushing away the tears building up. "For getting all gushy and emotional on you?"

"For saving my life." Ziva's tone was dead serious, despite Abby's attempt at humor. "You saved me, twice. I never said thank you."

Abby took a deep, steadying breath, blinking back the persistent tears. Then, she took Ziva's hands in her own, relishing the simple touch—because now she remembered how easily that contact could be taken away. Just one careless mistake, and one of them could just… not be there the next day.

She'd forgotten how sudden Kate's death had been. She'd gotten a refresher, and this time, they'd all gotten lucky. It was a harrowing reminder to get, but a necessity.

In the end, Abby could only shrug.

"That's what family does," she returned. "I'll never stop caring about you, Ziva. None of us will. No matter what."

Abby watched as Ziva's gaze warmed, and her smile shone brightly under the fluorescent light of the lab. And her response, two simple words, meant more than any speech ever could.

"I know."


End file.
